That  Ketr on  Streak 


FELICIA 
BUTTS 
CLARK 


UNIV.  OF  GALIF.  UBHARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


That  Ketron  Streak 


BY 
FELICIA  BUTTS  CLARK 


COL  ,  O. 
L.  B.  C. 


CHAPTER  ONE 
Introducing   David   and   His   Friends 

HELLO,  Davie !"  called  a  deep  voice  from  an 
upper  window  of  an  Elizabethan  building  in 
Davis  Quadrangle.  "Come  on  up !" 

"Davie"  came  on  up,  parrying  a  grip  of  the  hand- 
somest modern  type,  gray  felt  hat  from  New  York's 
best  purveyor  of  headgear,  stuck  on  the  back  of  a  mass 
of  reddish  brown,  wavy  hair,  gray  suit  of  stylish  cut, 
tan  shoes  made  to  order  at  a  high  price  -r-  that  was 
David  Ketron,  as  Hugh  Hinson  saw  him  from  the 
mullioned  window  overjiung  with  the  greenest  of  ivy. 

The  Quadrangle  was  the  pride  of  the  University. 
Altogether,  Davis  the  soap-man,  had  invested  a  million 
dollars  in  it,  and  his  portrait  was  the  most  prominent 
object  in  the  octagonal  lobby  which  David  now  en- 
tered. There  were  four  buildings  facing  the  square 
court.  The  architect  had  gone  to  Oxford  purposely 
to  study  its  fine  old  Colleges,  and  had  improved  on  the 
original  design  of  the  mediaeval  founders  of  this 
famous  institution. 

Modern  and  up-to-date  was  the  Davis  Quad- 
rangle, latest  heating,  each  suite  of  rooms  provided 
with  bath,  excellently  lighted,  splendidly  equipped.  As 
Hugh  Hinson  put  it,  "only  the  elect  could  live  in  Davis 
Quadrangle,"  meaning  thereby,  that  only  the  students 
who  could  afford  expensive  quarters  were  eligible  for 
admittance  into  this  glorious  building  where  Art 

(3) 


21 28927 


4  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

screamed  loudly  of  her  presence  and  of  Davis  the 
soap-man's  money,  to  everyone  who  entered. 

Davis  had  died  soon  after  it  was  finished  and  had 
never  during  his  life  nor  after  his  death  contributed 
one  cent  to  relieve  the  real  needs  of  humanity,  to  make 
sufferers  more  comfortable,  to  minister  to  the  aged, 
to  care  for  little  helpless  children  in  deep  distress,  to 
lift  up  the  fallen,  or  lead  the  footsteps  of  the  sinful 
and  wanderers  into  the  way  of  God's  peace. 

The  soap  business  had  been  profitable,  its  profits 
were  exhibited  in  the  Davis  Quadrangle,  to  provide 
suitable  quarters  for  -the  "gilt-edged  gentlemen"  as 
Hugh  Hinson  said  in  his  gentle,  sarcastic  way. 

Hugh  Hinson  did  not  live  in  one  of  the  spacious 
apartments  with  white  tiled  bathroom  and  all  the  latest 
improvements.  He  was  not  waited  on  by  an  ob- 
sequious negro,  such  as  Andrew,  who  came  forward 
now  to  take  David's  grip,  his  hat  and  overcoat,  passed 
over  to  him  with  that  air  which  belongs  to  one  who 
was  born  to  be  served  —  that  was  Davie. 

Oh,  no,  Hugh  lived  in  a  tiny  room  down  in  the 
village  that  he  got  cheap,  and  in  the  mornings,  arose 
betimes  to  boil  an  egg  on  a  kerosene  stove  and  eat 
some  dry  cereal,  to  drink  a  pint  of  milk  and  come  forth 
happy  and  healthy  when  the  distinguished  occupants 
of  Davis  Quadrangle  were  still  tossing  on  their  ex- 
pensive mattresses,  in  restless  slumber  after  a  "lark" 
that  had  kept  them  out  until  the  wee  hours  of  the 
day.  That  was  Hugh. 

"Glad  to  see  you  back,  old  chap,"  was  Hugh's 


s 

salutation.  "Got  your  card  and  been  waiting  for  you 
a  whole  hour." 

"The  train  was  late,  that's  why." 

David  yawned. 

"Hurry  up  with  some  coffee,  Andie,  and  plenty 
of  cream,  do  you  hear?  Bring  a  lot  of  good  things. 
Hugh,  you'll  have  some  breakfast,  won't  you?" 

"Oh,  no,  had  mine  long  ago.  It  is  a  great  thing 
for  a  fellow  to  get  up  in  time  to  see  the  sun  rise,  and 
a  pretty  sight  it  is,  too." 

"You  ought  to  have  been  a  poet,"  said  a  voice 
close  by.  "Then  your  name  would  be  written  in  the 
Hall  of  Fame." 

The  hidden  sneer,  in  the  languid,  slow  drawl  cut 
Hugh  and  a  flush  came  into  his  cheeks,  making  him 
handsomer  than  ever.  No  one  could  deny  that  Hugh 
Hinson  was  the  best-looking  man  in  the  class ;  but 
that  wasn't  what  the  boys  liked  him  for.  It  was  the 
good-will  that  shone  from  his  brown  eyes,  the  hearty 
clasp  of  a  good-sized  hand,  the  helpful  word  that  made 
a  shy  fellow  feel  better  and  gave  a  weak  brother 
strength  to  fight  his  besetting  sin. 

Hugh  Hinson  was  a  good  friend  to  have,  every- 
body acknowledged  that,  even  David  Ketron.  Two 
fellows  more  unlike  you  never  saw. 

"Have  some  breakfast,  Algie,"  was  David's  greet- 
ing to  the  newcomer. 

"Thank  you,  I  will.  Just  got  up.  Made  a  night 
of  it  and  I've  got  a  splitting  headache." 

Algie,  otherwise  Algernon  Van  der  Voort,  was  of 
distinguished  Knickerbocker  extraction,  whose  an- 


6  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

cestor,  a  stolid  gentleman  from  Amsterdam,  had 
smoked  a  long  pipe  and  sat  around  in  his  shirt  sleeves 
on  the  narrow  veranda  of  a  log  cabin  on  Manhattan 
island  about  two  hundred  years  ago.  The  original 
Van  der  Voort  had  sold  cheese  and  butter  and  eggs 
in  one  room  of  his  residence  and,  owning  a  neat  chunk 
of  the  Island,  which  descended  to  his  heirs  and  was 
wisely  retained  by  them,  founded  the  family  fortunes. 

To  the  fortune,  Algie  often  referred.  In  fact,  it 
was  written  in  large  type  all  over  him,  so  that  even  the 
way-faring  man  could  see  that  he  owned  several  blocks 
in  New  York  City.  But  of  the  cheese  and  butter  and 
eggs  business,  Algie  never  spoke.  This  was  dropped 
into  the  abyss  of  the  past,  like  many  another  family 
ancestor. 

Algernon  lounged  sleepily  in  one  easy  chair,  and 
David  yawned  in  another,  while  Hugh,  grown  silent, 
kept  his  place  on  the  wide  oak  window  seat,  elaborately 
carved  and  sumptuously  cushioned,  thanks  to  Mr. 
Davis.  He  looked  out  at  the  fine  elms  in  the  campus, 
watching  the  young  men  hurrying  back  and  forth, 
some  with  suit-cases,  some  with  hammer  and  nails  or 
tennis  rackets. 

The  air  was  sweet  with  Autumn  odors,  dried 
herbs  and  the  pungent  fragrance  of  Golden  Rod.  The 
University  was  just  opening  and  David  had  returned 
after  a  summer  spent  in  motoring  in  Colorado,  in  per- 
fect physical  health. 

Let  me  present  David  Ketron,  because  he  is  a  fine 
fellow,  though  he  has  the  faults  that  come  to  an  only 
son  of  doting  parents,  to  a  lad  who  has  had  everything 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  7 

fall  into  his  hands  which  he  could  possibly  desire, 
who  never  knew  what  it  was  to  have  his  will  crossed, 
who  never  knew  hunger  or  cold,  or  even  sadness  in 
all  his  twenty  years. 

David  Ketron  had  a  father  who  ruled  financial 
affairs  in  a  certain  large  town  of  Ohio.  He  was  the 
"boss"  of  about  everything  that  went  on  in  Pursell, 
had  a  lot  of  mills,  employed  many  hands,  lived  in  the 
handsomest  home,  surrounded  by  acres  of  park  and 
woodland,  had  been  to  Europe  many  times  and  was 
growling  now  because  the  present  conflict  would  pre- 
vent him  for  a  time  from  enjoying  himself  in  his  cus- 
tomary play  ground. 

Jared  Ketron  boasted  no  ancestors,  he  did  not 
know  much  about  his  grandfather  except  that  he  did 
horseshoeing  and  died  poor.  A  self-made  man,  he 
wanted  his  son  to  be  quite  the  contrary  and  began 
the  spoiling  process  when  the  boy's  mother  died,  on 
David's  tenth  birthday. 

The  process  had  developed  rapidly  and  com- 
pletely in  the  past  ten  years.  David  had  been  into 
all  the  mischief  possible  to  pampered  youth ;  he  had 
spent  his  very  liberal  allowance  and  more,  too. 

He  had  come  to  the  University  because  his  father 
wanted  him  to  enjoy  advantages  which  he  had  been 
too  busy  to  get.  And  he  was  enjoying  these  in  his 
own  way  and  to  his  own  satisfaction. 

Once,  during  his  career,  David  had  come  very 
close  to  being  expelled,  and  that  was  the  time  that 
Hugh  Hinson  appeared  on  the  scene  and  pulled  him 


&  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

up  physically  and  morally.  There  isn't  any  need  to 
state  just  what  the  trouble  was,  but  the  result  was  a 
close  and  almost  tender  friendship  between  Hugh  and 
David,  an  incongruous  friendship  in-  some  regards, 
for  David  was  born  with  a  golden  spoon  and  Hugh 
with  a  tin  one. 

It  showed  that  David  had  not  been  utterly  spoiled 
by  a  foolish,  but  loving  father;  that  he  had  at  once 
seen  the  gold  that  was  in  Hugh's  soul,  even  though 
the  fellow  who  was  working  his  way  through  the 
University  had  very  little  yellow  gold  to  spend. 

Andrew  appeared,  balancing  deftly  on  one  hand 
a  heavily-laden  tray.  In  the  other,  he  carried  a  pack- 
age of  letters.  Both  of  these  he  placed  on  a  table 
beside  David's  chair. 

"Draw  up,  AJgie.  Hugh,  come  and  have  a  slice 
of  melon  and  a  glass  of  iced  coffee,  if  you  don't  want 
anything  else." 

"Don't  be  a  grouch,  Hinson,"  drawled  Algie,  help- 
ing himself  to  melon. 

Decidedly,  Hugh  was  not  a  grouch ;  the  word  did 
not  fit  him.  With  a  pleasant  smile  he  left  his  win- 
dow-seat and  joined  the  others. 

"This  is  a  good  melon,"  he  remarked. 

"How's  the  garden?"  asked  David. 

"Have  you  a  garden?"  Algie  inserted.  "That's 
why  your  hands  are  so  black,  isn't  it?" 

For  an  instant,  the  strong  hand  that  held  the  fork 
trembled.  It  wasn't  what  Algie  said  that  hurt  so; 
it  was  the  insolent,  overbearing  manner  of  superiority. 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  9 

"Why  my  garden  is  fine,"  Hugh  replied.  "I 
wish  you  could  see  it,  Davie.  We  raised  all  that  we 
could  possibly  eat  and  mother  has  canned  a  lot." 

"Suppose  we  motor  out  there  some  day,  Hugh. 
How  far  is  it?" 

"Easy  to  do  it  in  a  day.  Could  your  mother  keep 
us  over  night?" 

For  a  moment,  Hugh  hesitated.  How  could 
David  be  made  comfortable  in  the  plain  little  home 
where  he  and  his  mother  and  Agnes  had  lived  since 
father  died,  five  years  before? 

He  could  almost  hear  his  mother's  quiet  voice 
saying,  "Of  course,  dear,  bring  your  friend.  We'll 
give  him  the  best  we  have." 

"Certainly,"  he  answered,  "we'll  go  any  day  you 
like." 

"October  would  be  fine  out  there,  wouldn't  it?" 

Before  Hugh  could  answer,  Algie  asked :  "Got 
a  new  car,  Dave?" 

"Sure.  Best  I  could  find.  Cost  four  thousand 
and  ought  to  be  good."  David  scowled  at  his  chicken. 
"Andrie,  this  is  not  fit  to  eat.  I  can't  be  served  this 
way.  Tell  the  cook  that  if  he  doesn't  send  me  better 
food  than  this,  I'll  see  that  he's  out  of  a  job  quick." 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Andrew.  "The  cook  has  just 
lost  his  child,  sir.  I  don't  believe  he  is  to  blame  if  the 
chicken  isn't  right.  His  mind  ain't  on  it,  sir." 

David  had  the  grace  to  utter  some  regrets,  but 
Algie  said,  as  he  pushed  his  chair  back  from  the  table: 
"That's  the  way  to  talk  to  them,  Dave.  Keep  'em  up 
to  the  mark.  It's  what  those  fellows  are  for,  to  wait 


io  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

on  us,  we  pay  them  well.  I  believe  in  class  distinc- 
tions. Well,  good-bye.  I'm  off  for  a  ride." 

Algie  lit  his  cigarette,  waved  his  hand  to  David 
and  sauntered  out  of  the  door  in  that  exasperating 
way  he  had  that  got  on  Hugh's  nerves. 

"Don't  go,  Hugh.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  about 
everything." 

"There  isn't  much  to  tell.  I've  had  a  pleasant 
summer.  Worked  hard  and  slept  well." 

"That's  more  than  I've  done.  Had  a  bum  time. 
Used  up  my  nerves.  Doctor  gave  me  some  powders 
to  make  me  sleep." 

Hugh  leaned  his  elbows  on  the  table,  rested  his 
bonny  face  in  his  hands  and  looked  David  over. 

"Well,  1  must  say  you  look  it.  Your  eyes  are 
heavy  and  you  have  dark  rings  around  them.  Your 
cheeks  are  sallow ;  liver's  out  of  order  from  too  high 
living.  You're  down  in  the  mouth  and  you're  getting 
lines  between  your  eyes.  Too  much  fun,  David,  that's 
my  diagnosis.  Why  don't  you  cut  out  all  this  non- 
sense? A  fellow  only  twenty  with  not  a  care, 
oughtn't  to  look  as  you  do." 

"I  suppose  you're  right,  Hugh,  but  how  am  I 
to  'cut  it  out'  when  the  fellows  are  after  me  all  the 
time?  There's  a  banquet  tonight  of  the  Jolly  Good 
Fellows  and  I  won't  be  home  till  morning.  And 
there'll  be  something  else  tomorrow.  And  so  it  goes 
all  through  the  year." 

"Couldn't  you  do  some  studying  for  a  while? 
'Sport  your  oak'  as  the  English  students  do.  There's 
a  good,  solid  oak  door  to  this  room,  provided  by  kind 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  li 

Mr.  Davis.  Shut  it  up,  put  a  card  on  the  door  to  say 
you're  busy.  Your  father  would  like  it.  He  wants 
you  to  do  well.  That's  what  he  sent  you  here  for. 
Oh,  I  hate  to  preach^I'm  none  too  good  myself,  but 
I  can't  bear  to  see  you  going  the  pace,  Davie,  and  be- 
ing no  good  to  yourself  or  anybody  else." 

"I  guess  you're  right,  Hugh,  but  I  don't  see  where 
to  stop.  Suppose  I  say  that  this  banquet  tonight  shall 
be  my  last,  that  I'll  swear  off  from  fun  after  this  and 
settle  down  to  business;  that  I'll  study  hard  and 
graduate  decently  next  June.  What  would  you  say 
to  that?" 

''You  wouldn't  honestly,  Davie,  would  you?" 

Hugh's  voice  was  vibrant  with  excitement.  If 
Davie  only  would !  He  had  plenty  of  brains  if  he 
would  use  them,  and  a  strong  will  which  had,  up  to 
the  present  been  employed  chiefly  in  urging  him  to- 
ward paths  where  he  ought  not  to  tread. 

David   laughed. 

"Oh  what  an  earnest  fellow  you  are!  If  I  were 
like  you,  I'd  —  Hello,  I  forgot  my  mail.  Wait  till  I 
read  these  letters  —  it  won't  take  long,  half  of  them 
are  bills  —  and  I'll  walk  down  with  you.  Some  exer- 
cise will  do  me  good." 

"All  right,  I'll  wait  if  you  won't  be  too  long. 
I've  got  to  be  at  the  laboratory  at  twelve." 

Hugh  picked  up  the  paper  and  was  soon  absorbed 
in  the  news. 

Andrew  came  in,  removed  the  tray,  put  David's 
freshly  brushed  hat  and  coat  away,  went  into  the 
adjoining  bed-room  and  unpacked  the  heavy  leather 


12  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

grip,  and  laid  out  clean  linen,  and  another  suit.  Hav- 
ing done  everything  he  could  find  to  do,  Andrew  de- 
parted. 

David  rapidly  opened  his  letters,  placing  the  bills 
on  one  side,  bills  left  unpaid  when  he  went  away  on 
his  vacation.  He  smiled  as  he  read  two  or  three  of 
the  epistles  and  tore  them  up.  Taking  a  check  with 
an  amount  in  four  figures  from  another,  he  put  it 
carefully  away  in  his  pocket. 

"Must  stop  at  the  bank  and  deposit  it,"  he  mur- 
mured. "Dear  old  Dad!" 

David  opened  the  last  envelope,  cheap  paper,  ad- 
dressed in  a  wavering  script.  He  read  it  through 
slowly  and  this  time  no  amusement  was  on  his  face. 
His  expression  grew  pleasant  and  tender,  a  soft  look 
came  into  his  eyes  that  were  frank  and  kind,  when 
they  were  not  dimmed  by  worldly  thoughts  and  too 
much  pleasure. 

"This  will  suit  you,  Hugh,  it's  about  your  kind. 
Didn't  know  I  owned  a  grandmother  did  you?" 

"I  knew  that  you  owned  a  four-thousand  dollar 
car  and  some  stylish  waistcoats  and  a  dozen  or  so 
suits,  but  I  never  was  aware  that  you  possessed  any- 
thing so  precious  as  a  grandmother." 

"She's  like  a  piece  of  Dresden  china,  delicate 
and  refined  and  sweet  as  a  wild  rose.  I'm  enthusi- 
astic over  grandmother." 

"So  I  see." 

"Want  to  hear  her  letter?  I  wouldn't  dare  read 
it  to  any  of  the  other  fellows.  They'd  think  I  was 
daffy." 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  13 

Hugh  looked  at  a  battered  silver  watch  that  had 
belonged  to  his  father  and  was  wound  with  a  key. 
Hopelessly  behind  the  times  Hugh  Hinson  was  in 
some  ways.  He  had  some  queer  sentiments,  accord- 
ing to  the  boys. 

"It's  quarter  to  twelve.  L  can  wait  five  minutes. 
Go  ahead." 

Hugh  settled  himself  comfortably  in  the  chair 
where  Algie  had  lounged,  but  no  indolence  was  ap- 
parent in  his  attitude.  There  was  something  about 
Hugh  Hinson  that  impressed  people  as  latent  vitality. 
He  could  rest,  but  was  capable  of  action. 

At  first  he  listened  to  the  reading  with  indiffer- 
ence, but  presently  his  face  brightened  and  he  sat  up 
straight. 

"  'Hillside,  Vermont,  September  25th.  My  dear 
Grandson,"  it  began. 

'  'For  some  reason  I  have  been  thinking  of  you 
all  day.  This  is  your  mother's  birthday,  dear,  and  she 
would  have  been  so  happy  to  know  what  a  fine  boy 
her  David  has  become.  She  was  such  a  beautiful 
girl,  so  good  and  obedient.  I  am  so  glad  that  the 
good  Father  in  Heaven  has  made  you  such  a  blessing 
to  us  all,  such  a  student — for,  of  course,  you  stand 
high  in  your  classes  and  such  a  credit  to  us. 

"Listen  to  that,  will  you?  'Such  a  student  and 
such  a  credit  to  us  all !'  By  jove,  Hugh,  it  makes  a 
fellow  have  some  desire  to  live  up  to  what  the  dear 
old  soul  expects." 

"Why  don't  you?"  Hugh  said  quietly.  Grand- 
mother was  becoming  a  person  to  him. 


14  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

'  'Couldn't  you  come  up  and  see  me  some  time, 
Davie?  It  is  beautiful  here  among  the  hills.  The 
maple-trees  are  gorgeous  and  the  sumach  and  golden- 
rod  are  abundant. 

"  'Ive  made  a  batch  of  elder-berry  pies,  the  kind 
your  father  used  to  like  when  he  came  courting  my 
Leila.  I  haven't  seen  you  since  you  were  a  lad  of 
twelve  and  you  could  eat  more  pie  than  any  other  boy 
I  ever  saw.  Now  you  are  almost  a  man  and  I  know 
just  what  you're  like,  you  couldn't  be  anything  else, 
being  Leila's  son. 

'  'You  are  handsome  and  strong,  but  best  of  all 
you  are  a  Christian,  aren't  you,  Davie?  And  you  are 
going  to  give  your  whole  life  to  God's  service. 
There's  nothing  better  to  do  than  just  that,  to  give 
ourselves  to  Him  who  gave  Himself  for  us.  That's 
my  experience,  and  I'm  seventy  now  and  see  before 
me  very  few  years.  You  are  going  to  have  a  long  life 
of  usefulness. 

"  'Don't  study  too  hard.  Davie.  and  injure  your 
health.  I've  heard  that  boys  in  college  sometimes 
study  all  night,  so  that  they  can  stand  high  in  their 
classes.  Please  do  not  do  this. 

"  'I  think  of  you  often  and  every  night  I  pray 
God  to  keep  Leila's  Davie.  Give  my  best  regards  to 
your  father. 

"  'Affectionately,  your  grandmother, 

"  TAMKLA  PRKNTK  !•:!'  ' 

"I  wouldn't  have  read  this  to  anyone  but  you. 
Hugh.  I  guess  Grandmother's  something  your  kind. 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  15 

Once  a  year,  on  my  mother's  birthday,  she  writes  me 
just  such  a  letter." 

"What's  a  fellow  to  do  with  a  saintly  relative 
like  that?  I'm  not  making  fun  of  her  or  her  religion, 
not  one  bit.  I  respect  it,  but  1  simply  can't  live  up  to 
it.  These  are  modern  times  and  a  man  has  got  to 
enjoy  himself  in  modern  ways.  And  people  don't 
believe  in  things  like  they  used  to.'' 

"1  must  go.  Da  vie,  come  along." 

The  two  presentable  youths  went  out  into  the 
glow  of  sunshine,  bare-headed,  hands  in  pockets,  giv- 
ing a  friendly  greeting  to  other  boys. 

"I  had  a  letter  from  Eleanor  this  morning," 
David  remarked,  casually. 

There  was  an  instant's  pause. 

Then  Hugh  said :  "Is  she  going  back  to  col- 
lege ?" 

"She's  coming  next  week.  Uncle  Aleck  is  better 
and  I  guess  she  will  fimsh  her  course  in  order  to 
teach.  Hello,  there's  Parsons." 

David  hurried  away  and  that  was  the  last  that 
Hugh  saw  of  him  for  twenty-four  hours. 


CHAPTER  TWO 
The  Jolly  Good  Fellows 

DAVIE  forgot  all  about  grandmother's  letter  in 
the  excitement  of  preparing  for  the  banquet 
that  evening.  He  tossed  it  into  a  drawer  and 
there  it  lay,  redolent  of  lavender  and  sweet  thoughts 
and  unselfish  love. 

"The  truth  is,  1  can't  live  up  to  you/'  Uavie  said, 
not  knowing  that  he  spoke  aloud. 

"Can't  live  up  to  what?"  inquired  Tom  Parsons. 
"You  live  fast  enough  to  keep  up  with  anything." 

"You  wouldn't  understand,  Tom.  What  about 
tonight?  Dress  suits  and  pearl  studs?" 

"Oh,  no.  Sweaters  and  duck  trousers.  It's  to 
be  a  real  picnic  down  at  Sander's  Beach.  Great  larks, 
swimming,  rowing,  eating  and  drinking;  coming  home 
by  moonlight.  The  old  lady  is  going  to  look  her  best 
tonight,  there's  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky.  'Oh  what  is 
so  rare  as  a  day  in'  —  September."  he  chanted  in  a 
rich  tenor  voice  that  made  him  the  pride  of  the  Glee 
Club. 

"It  will  be  fun.  What  about  the  eats?  Who's 
got  'em  in  charge?" 

"We  left  that  to  Algie ;  he's  up  on  all  such  things, 
a  regular  Delmonico  himself.  And  Simons  is  to  sec 
to  the  champagne.  We  won't  spare  expense." 

"Not  much  we  won't.  I'm  ready  to  chip  in  with 
a  big  check.  Got  my  allowance  from  dad  this  morn- 

(16) 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  17 

ing.     He  says  as  long  as  I'm  now  a  senior,  I'll  need 
to  spend  more.    My  bank  accounts  are  flush  now." 

"You're  a  lucky  dog!''  sighed  Tom,  sitting  on 
the  arm  of  a  chair  and  smoking  one  of  David's  ex- 
pensive cigarettes,  bought  with  proud  papa's  money. 
"I  wish  I  had  a  tenth  of  what  you  have." 

"Don't  I  share  with  you,  Tom?" 

"You  just  do.  By  the  way,  you  couldn't  let  me 
have  a  ten-spot  could  you  ?  I'll  pay  it  back  as  soon 
as  1  get  my  October  money,  if  there's  any  left,"  he 
added,  under  his  breath. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  Tom,  pay  me  wlien  you  can, 
old  chap.  I'll  write  a  check.  We  ought  to  help  one 
another,"  David  said  with  his  grand  air,  feeling  ex- 
ceedingly virtuous.  The  irony  of  it  was  that  he  never 
realized  that  he  was  being  generous  with  his  father's 
money. 

Tom  Parson's  eyes  were  deep-set  and  too  close 
together  for  beauty.  He  had  a  way  of  half-closing  his 
eyelids,  so  that  one  scarcely  saw  his  eyes  at  all,  nor 
could  one  get  any  clue  to  his  thoughts.  His  mouth 
was  thin,  with  a  sarcastic  curve,  exaggerated  now,  as 
he  watched  David  signing  his  name  with  a  flourish 
to  the  check.  It  was  hard  to  tell  whether  Tom  Par- 
sons was  pleased  or  not. 

"I've  made  it  twenty-five,  Tom,  you  might  need 
more,  expenses  tonight,  you  know." 

"Thank  you." 

Tom's  tone  might  have  expressed  either  gratitude 
or  resentment,  as  one  chose  to  interpret  it.  David 
accepted  the  first  interpretation.  His  was  not  a  sus- 


i8  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

picious  nature  and  he  really  liked  Tom  and  believed 
that  he  was  a  faithful  friend. 

"Oh,  don't  mention  it.  And,  by  the  way,  don't 
think  of  returning  it,  old  boy.  I've  got  plenty  and 
you  haven't." 

David  did  not  observe  the  deep  flush  on  Tom's 
face,  nor  the  trembling  hand  that  reached  out  for  the 
check.  It  is  too  bad  to  have  to  tell  it,  for  David  Ket- 
ron  had  many  good  qualities;  the  truth  was  that  at  this 
moment,  he  was  completely  absorbed  in  contemplat- 
ing his  own  importance  as  the  only  son  of  a  million- 
aire. 

Tom  pocketed  the  check,  lit  his  third  cigarette 
and  became  pale  again.  Ordinarily  he  had  not  a 
trace  of  color.  1 1  is  cheeks  were  thin,  his  nose  and 
face  were  long,  his  hair  very  straight  and  black,  his 
eyes  as  I  have  said,  were  narrow,  were  black  and 
snaky  —  there  is  no  other  word  to  express  their  ap- 
pearance. 

It  is  intresting  to  study  how  people  form  friend- 
ships and  for  what  diverse  reasons.  Next  to  Hugh 
Hinson,  Tom  Parsons  was  David's  closest  friend. 
He  chose  Hugh  because  he  believed  in  him  and  trusted 
him  and  partly  because  at  times,  even  the  millionaire's 
son  needed  some  one  stronger  than  himself  to  lean 
upon. 

Tom  I 'arsons  was  his  friend  for  a  totally  differ- 
ent reason.  In  his  heart  of  hearts,  David  was  in- 
ordinately proud  of  his  father's  wealth  and  the  posi- 
tion which  he  himself  possessed  because  of  it.  He 
was  one  of  the  richest  students  in  the  university  of 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  19 

old  standing,  where  there  were  many  sons  of  wealthy 
men. 

The  sycophancy  of  Parsons  was  pleasing  to  him. 
Did  he  trust  him?  Not  at  all.  But  he  was  willing  to 
pay  high  for  honeyed  words  and  respectful  homage 
such  as  Tom  knew  so  well  how  to  give ;  they  were  his 
stock  in  trade  and  were  profitable. 

Decidedly,  David  had  his  weaknesses,  but  he  was, 
at  bottom,  a  fine  fellow,  when  you  rubbed  off  all  the 
dross  gathered  from  the  gold  that  had  encrusted  him 
all  his  life.  How  could  he  fail  to  be  a  fine  fellow, 
with  the  mother  and  grandmother  whom  he  had  pos- 
sessed ?  Yet,  many  of  his  good  qualities  were  buried 
deep  beneath  an  accumulation  of  conceit  and  selfish- 
ness and  desire  for  the  luxuries  of  this  world  and  the 
pleasure  of  life. 

"There  goes  Ines!"  cried  Tom,  excitedly,  rush- 
ing to  the  window. 

David  followed. 

A  girl  wearing  a  white  gown,  with  a  deep  red 
rose  fastened  in  the  belt,  and  a  broad  white  hat,  the 
drooping  brim  of  which  half  hid  her  piquant,  laugh- 
ing face,  dashed  by.  As  the  bright  yellow  car  passed, 
she  waved  her  hand  to  the  two  fellows  at  the  window, 
showing  a  row  of  regular  teeth,  very  small  and  ex- 
ceedingly white. 

It  was  strange  that  the  first  thing  one  noticed 
about  Ines  Guille  was  her  teeth.  Hugh  Hinson  said 
they  made  him  think  of  the  sharp  teeth  of  a  wild 
animal,  ready  to  seize  its  prey;  which  was  not  at  all 
nice  in  Hugh,  for  Ines  was  a  very  beautiful  girl,  who ' 


2o  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

dazzled  the  eyes  and  caused  violent  palpitations  in 
the  hearts  of  many  youths  in  the  university.  Most 
people  admired  her  teeth  and  some  thought  they  must 
be  false  because  they  were  so  absolutely  perfect. 

"Stunner,  isn't  she?  What's  the  mystery  there, 
Dave?" 

"Didn't  know  there  was  any  mystery." 

"You  never  heard  of  the  man  who  has  been  seen 
hanging  around  the  house  where  Ines  and  her  aunt 
live?  Looks  like  a  tramp." 

"No,  who  is  he?" 

"Letter  fo'  you,  sah,"  Andrew  said,  handing 
David  a  small  cream-tinted  envelope. 

Tom  tried  hard  to  see  whose  writing  it  was  — 
some  girl's,  sure !  —  but  could  not,  for  David  opened 
it  and  read  it,  putting  it  carefully  into  his  pocket, 
without  giving  Tom  a  chance  to  gratify  his  curiosity. 

Some  things  about  his  friend,  David  Ketron  was 
shrewd  enough  to  understand,  especially  since  that 
day  when  he  came  into  his  room  unexpectedly  and 
found  Tom  busy  examining  the  papers  in  his  desk. 
There  had  been  a  scene,  and  a  break  for  two  months. 

• 

But  Tom  was  useful  and  amusing  and  David  made  it 
up.  His  desk  was  kept  locked,  however,  after  this 
little  episode. 

"Who  is  he?"  David  repeated. 

"Nobody  knows.  Some  think  it's  her  father,  and 
she's  ashamed  of  him.  It  is  a  bit  queer.  Well,  chow ! 
Fm  off  for  a.  nap..  We'll  get  little  sleep  tonight  I 
imagine." 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  21 

"So  long!"  answered  David,  in  the  vernacular  of 
the  college  youth. 

When  Tom  was  surely  gone,  he  locked  the  heavy 
oak  door,  as  Hugh  had  suggested,  but  did  not  go  at 
any  work.  He  took  from  his  pocket  the  small  cream- 
tinted  envelope  and  re-read  the  note.  The  paper  bore 
a  coat-of-arms,  a  lion  rampant,  three  stars  and  a 
pine-tree,  and  beneath  it  was  an  inscription  in  French : 
L'honneur  ct  justice.  This  was  in  gold. 

It  was  a  very  distinguished,  stylish  epistle,  writ- 
ten in  fine  script  of  foreign  style,  acquired  with  vari- 
ous other  accomplishments  when  Ines  was  a  pupil  in 
the  Convent  of  the  Annunciation  in  Paris. 

Ines  had  been  heard  to  remark  that  she  learned 
a  good  deal  of  languages,  how  to  make  wax  flowers, 
to  embroider  and  do  cross-stitch,  but  mighty  little 
religion.  Judging  from  her  actions,  she  spoke  the 
exact  truth.  In  the  circle  of  society  in  which  Ines 
Guille  moved,  it  was  not  considered  genteel  to  prac- 
tice any  religion.  Tom  Parsons  and  Algie  Van  der 
Voort  did  not  see  any  need  of  it  and  even  David 
Ketron  was  indifferent. 

David  re-read  the  note  several  times. 

"DEAR  DAVID: 

"Aren't  you  coming  to  see  me  soon?  I'll  be  in 
at  tea-time  tomorrow  and  shall  expect  you.  .1  want 
to  know  what  you  have  been  doing  all  the  vacation 
and  lots  of  other  things.  Be  sure  to  come. 

"Yours  sincerely,  INES  GUILLE."" 


22  I' HAT     l\l.  IKd.N     SlKKAK 

David  did  not  throw  this  scented  note  with  its 
embossed  heraldic  heading  into  the  drawer,  as  he  had 
done  with  grandmother's  letter,  and  forget  all  about 
it.  By  no  means.  He  put  it  into'  a  separate  part  of 
his  pocket-wallet,  and  placed  it  on  the  left  side  of  his 
vest,  in  the  place  where  sentiment  locates  a  certain 
organ. 

He  thought  very  often  about  it,  as  he  donned, 
not  sweaters  and  trousers,  as  Tom  Parsons  had  said 
-  for  that  was  merely  figure  of  speech,  not  to  be 
taken  literally  by  one  of  the  Jolly  Good  Fellows  — 
but  a  suit  of  heavy  Japanese  silk,  made  by  an  expen- 
sive tailor.  To  the  uninitiated  it  looked  as  unpre- 
tending as  Ines  Guille's  simple  white  gown ;  the  expert 
knew  that  both  of  them  cost  a  lot,  enough  to  keep 
Hugh  Hinson  in  comfort  for  six  weeks. 

"Good-bye,  Andie.  You  needn't  wait  up  for 
me,"  David  announced,  sallying  forth  at  five  forty- 
five,  sharp. 

"Thank  you,  sah,"  Andrew  answered,  watching 
David  go  blithly  away. 

In  the  negro's  black  face  there  was  an  expression 
of  mingled  pride  and  pity.  He  had  cared  for  David's 
comfort  for  eight  years,  had  prepared  his  bath  and 
laid  out  his  clothes  with  praiseworthy  devotion.  He 
knew  what  David  liked  and  gave  it  to  him;  but  he  had 
a  mind  of  his  own,  even  if  he  was  genuinely  black; 
he  knew  that  David  was  going  the  pace  and  would 
pay  for  it  some  day,  just  as  surely  as  the  moon  would 
shine  upon  the  earth  that  night  and  the  sun  would 
rise  next  morning. 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  23 

Andrew  was  deeply  religious  by  nature.  He  loved 
his  young  employer  and  he  loved  his  soul.  Humble 
though  he  was,  he  would  have  given  his  life  to  save 
David  Ketron's  soul.  Pray  for  him,  he  did  daily; 
speak  plainly  to  him,  he  did  frequently,  even  at  the 
risk  of  getting  fired. 

Three  times  had  David  dismissed  him  and  three 
times  taken  him  back.  The  truth  was  that  David, 
sound  at  heart,  as  I  have  said,  was  perfectly  aware 
of  the  value  of  faith  in  God  and  in  the  salvation 
offered  by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  which  was  possessed 
by  his  friend  Hugh  H  in  son,  by  his  grandmother,  up 
in  Vermont,  and  by  his  serving  man,  Andrew  Jones. 

Not  ready  to  accept  their  faith,  because  he  knew 
that  if  he  did  so,  it  meant  self-denial  and  self-abnega- 
tion and  even  more  than  these  to  be  a  real  Christian, 
he  nevertheless,  prized  these  persons  who  possessed 
the  spirit  of  Christ  much  more  highly  than  he  prized 
Algie  Van  der  Voort,  who  could  blow  beautiful  rings 
of  smoke  in  the  air,  or  Al  Simons,  the  champagne  ex- 
pert, or  Tom  Parsons,  who  would  have  made  a  good 
Mephistopheles.  He  did  not  want  to  give  any  of 
them  up. 

Andrew  went  back  into  the  bed-room  and  picked 
up  articles  strewn  around  the  floor  and  table  by  reck- 
less David.  He  put  the  handsome  cravat  into  its 
leather  and  gold  case,  with  kindred  cravats,  equally 
costly. 

"I  wish  he  hadn't  gone  tonight,"  muttered  An- 
drew. "Deah  Lo'd  when  you'  gwine  to  save  'im? 


24  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

Hurry,  Lo'd,   for  he's  goin'  to  de  debbil  fas'  ez  he 
kin." 

In  this  opinion,  Andrew  Jones,  formerly  of  Vir- 
ginia, whose  grandfather  had  borne  the  woes  of  slav- 
ery, was  exactly  right. 

David  was  unaware  of  Andrew's  opinion  of  his 
mad  rush  toward  destruction,  or  the  sincere  prayer  of 
his  which  followed  him  as  he  entered  the  car  standing 
at  the  entrance  to  the  quadrangle.  He  was  just  one 
of  hundreds  of  thoughtless,  joyous,  reckless,  affec- 
tionate youths  who  swarmed  all  over  the  gray  build- 
ing, whistling,  shouting,  singing,  talking  slang  — 
sometimes  using  much  worse  language,  —  lovable 
youngsters  who  had  the  making  of  men  in  them. 

What  kind  of  men?  That  was  the  question. 
Men  to  make  the  world  better,  to  help  sufferers,  to  lift 
up  the  discouraged,  to  spread  Christ's  spirit  wherever 
they  went;  or  men  whose  influence  would  bring  evil 
wherever  it  went,  would  leave  a  trail  as  slimy  as  that 
of  the  loathsome  black  snail  that  one  finds  in  tropical 
countries.  Who  can  say  what  material  there  is  in  one 
of  these  lads  to  whom  our  hearts  go  out  in  real  love, 
these  men  in  embroyo? 

"Pile  in,  boys!"  shouted  David,  pushing  the 
starter.  "Hurry  up  there,  Algie.  Put  in  the  bottles, 
Al.  There's  plenty  of  room.  Got  plenty  ?  Oh,  we're 
Jolly  Good  Fellows,"  sang  David. 

The  others  joined  in. 

"Aye,  we're  Jolly  Good  Fellows,  an'  don't  you 
forget  it.  Hurrah !" 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  25 

"Climb  in  here  by  me,  Tom.  There's  plenty  of 
room,"  said  David,  when  the  echoes  of  the  chorus 
had  died  away.  "All  ready,  boys?" 

"All  ready,"  they  answered. 

( )ff  they  went,  the  splendid  car  purring  its  way 
through  the  long  street,  where  historic  elms  waved 
generous  branches,  casting  shade  upon  this  young  gen- 
eration of  students  as  they  had  sheltered  students  a 
century  before. 

A.  girl  waved  her  hand  as  the  car  flew  by.  She 
stood  on  the  white  veranda  of  a  white  house  with 
white  pillars,  in  the  midst  of  a  velvety  lawn,  dotted 
with  oaks  and  elms  and  maple-trees  just  beginning 
to  turn  scarlet  and  gold. 

"It's  Ines,"  Tom  said,  with  a  queer  catch  in  his 
voice. 

"Yes,  it's  Ines,"  answered  David,  saluting  with 
three  honks  of  his  big  horn. 


CHAPTER  THREE 
A   Kettle   of   Clam   Chowder 

OUT   with    the   hampers,   boys !     Give   me   one. 
My  !  it's  jolly  heavy  !    What's  in  it?" 
"Everything  that's  good,  you  chump.    Do 
you  think  I  don't  know  how  to  order  grub  ?"  inquired 
Algie  superintending  the  unloading  of  several  wicker 
hampers  from  a  second  car  by  no  means  as  fine  as 
David's  but  fully  as  useful. 

Beside  the  hampers,  four  youths  had  been 
screwed  into  the  auto,  one  hanging  his  feet  outside, 
one  sitting  on  the  hampers,  one  driving  and  the  fourth 
serenely  riding  on  the  foot-board. 

"Can't  we  eat  right  away?"  inquired  Stout  Jim 
Smith.  "I'm  hungry." 

"You're  always  hungry,"  grunted  Algie.  "Get 
busy,  now." 

Algie  never  did  a  stroke  himself,  but  he  ordered 
and  watched  other  fellows  work.  It  was  a  way  he 
had  —  I  suppose,  when  you  think  of  it,  that  we  all 
have  our  little  "ways,"  good  or  bad.  The  fellows  had 
been  inclined  to  resent  this  superior  attitude  of  his, 
doubtless  derived  from  some  mistaken  idea  about  the 
ancestor  who  sold  cheese  and  butter  and  eggs  in  New 
Amsterdam. 

This  was  before  they  found  out  that  Algie  did 
know  how  to  boss,  that  with  all  his  languid  air  and 
affected  drawl,  he  had  inherited  from  the  sturdy 

(26) 


THAT  KKTKON  STREAK  27 

Dutchman  a  good  deal  of  executive  ability  and  carried 
everything  through  that  he  undertook.  He  was  par- 
ticularly endowed  with  the  gift  of  ordering  the  "eats" 
which  endeared  him  to  his  comrades,  much  more  than 
if  he  received  the  Greek  Prize. 

Besides  this,  Algie  Van  der  Voort  had  a  long 
purse  and  didn't  mind  spending  money  any  more  than 
David  Ketron  did.  The  boys  clave  to  Davie  and  Algie, 
for  are  not  "eats"  and  "cash"  two  most  essential  fac- 
tors in  college  life? 

"This  is  fine!"  said  David,  standing  on  a  rock 
(ivrrlooking  the  bay  and  breathing  in  the  fresh,  spicy 
air  of  pines  and  sea. 

"I  picked  it  out,"  Tom  answered.  "Down  yonder 
is  a  flat  stone  by  the  water,  where  we  can  spread  the 
grub  and  there's  a  good  pool  for  swimming  just  around 
the  corner,  you  can't  see  it  from  here." 

"Your  head's  level,  Tom." 

Tom  smiled  one  of  his  quiet,  cynical  smiles  and 
felt  in  his  pocket  for  the  check  that  David  had  so 
generously  given  him  that  morning.  Yes,  Tom  had  a 
long  head  and  he  knew  how  to  use  it. 

"Let's  go  swimming  first,"  announced  Stout  Jim. 
"We  can't  have  supper  yet,  I  s'pose,  an'  we  must  do 
something." 

"We  might  read,"  suggested  Al  Simons,  who  was 
Algie's  shadow  and  had  helped  prepare  the  feast. 

There  was  a  howl  of  derision.  With  a  grand 
rush,  the  eight  lads  who  had  come  in  the  cars,  joined, 
by  two  more  who  had  arrived  via  trolley  and  a  half 
mile  tramp  through  the  woods,  made  for  the  pool, 


28  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

flung  aside  their  garments  and  were  soon  enjoying  a 
swim  and  frightening  the  trout. 

David  went  a  little  further  than  the  others,  and 
soon  saw  an  opening  in  the  overshadowing  cliff. 

"Looks  like  a  cave,"  he  muttered. 

A  cave  offers  many  attractions. 

"Come  on,  Tom,"  he  called.  "I've  found  some- 
thing." 

There  were  low  bushes  on  the  border  of  the  pool, 
hiding  David  and  Tom  from  the  rest  of  the  swimmers. 

"Great,  isn't  it?"  Tom  said,  as  the  two  crept  into 
the  dark,  cool  opening  in  the  rocks.  "Bear  in  here, 
maybe." 

"Hear  him  growl !"  exclaimed  David  keeping  up 
the  fiction. 

Sure  enough,  there  was  a  sort  of  growl,  but  it 
wasn't  a  bear,  it  was  the  deep  voice  of  a  man,  a  re- 
fined, pleasant  voice. 

"To  what  am  I  indebted  for  this  visit,  young 
gentlemen?"  he  inquired. 

"Well,  I  never!"  said  Tom.  "We  didn't  know 
that  anybody  had  taken  this  cave  for  a  private  house." 

"Won't  you  sit  down?" 

"I  guess  we'd  better  go  back  and  dress  before  we 
make  a  call,"  suggested  David,  laughing. 

"You'll  find  it  chilly  in  here,  perhaps.  I  like  it 
and  it's  better  than  no  roof  at  all,  isn't  it?" 

"It's  great,"  Dave  replied,  "but  sort  of  primitive, 
don't  you  think  ?" 

They  could  see  quite  easily,  now,  what  was  in  the 
cave,  for  there  was  a  cleft  in  the  rock  through  which 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  29 

the  light  —  likewise  the  rain  could  come  in.  There 
was  a  rude  fireplace,  such  as  gypsies  use,  made  of  flat 
stones  and  on  it  was  a  tin  kettle,  from  which  steam 
came,  and  delightful  odors. 

"Clam  chowder,"  explained  their  host,  seeing 
David's  glance.  "Found  clams  on  the  shore,  picked 
some  tomatoes  from  a  vine  that  had  escaped  through 
somebody's  fence;  thought  maybe  they  belonged  to 
the  wayfarer,  like  such  things  used  to  in  Bible  times, 
you  know.  All  that  grew  by  the  wayside  belonged  to 
the  poor.  Mixed  clams  and  tomatoes  and  a  few 
potatoes  and  there  you  are.  Best  chowder  you  ever 
ate,  I'll  guarantee." 

"Smells  so,"  said  Tom. 

"I  suppose  you're  camping  out."  David  ventured. 

The  man  smiled.  His  face  was  very  agreeable 
when  he  smiled  ;  in  repose,  it  was  rather  severe.  He 
had  the  healthy  complexion  that  goes  with  out-of-door 
life,  his  eyes  were  singularly  bright  and  his  heavy 
brown  hair  waved  around  a  well-tanned  forehead. 

When  he  lifted  the  cover  of  the  chowder-pot, 
David  observed  that  his  hands  were  slender,  with  the 
long  fingers  of  an  artist  —  that  was  it.  He  was  an 
artist.  They  were  always  rather  queer. 

Evidently,  he  lived  here,  for  in  the  corner  was  a 
sort  of  couch,  covered  with  an  old  gray  steamer-shawl. 

"Well,  not  exactly  camping  out.  I'm  living  here 
for  the  present.  It's  a  good  place  to  think  in  and  I'm 
thankful  for  a  place  to  lay  my  head  while  I'm  planning 
how.  best  to  do  my  Master's  work.  Do  I  need  any- 
thing better  than  He  had  when  He  was  on  earth? 


30  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

'The  foxes  have  holes  and  the  birds  of  the  air  have 
nests/  our  Lord  said.  Why  should  I  enjoy  more  com- 
forts than  He  had  ?" 

Tom  nudged  David. 

"Let's  go,"  he  whispered.  "It's  time  for  supper." 

A  man  who  quoted  Scripture  and  lived  in  a  cave 
must  be  a  little  off  his  head. 

"You're  camping  near  here?"  inquired  the 
st  ranger. 

David  noticed  again  the  peculiarly  rich  and 
melodious  timbre  of  his  voice.  It  had  so  much  depth 
to  it. 

"We're  the  Jolly  Good  Fellows  and  we're  out  here 
just  for  the  night,  for  a  picnic,"  he  explained.  "We'd 
better  go  now  and  we  thank  you  for  letting  us  see 
your  nice  home." 

"It  is  nice,  isn't  it?  Do  you  know,  I  feel  as  if  I 
never  wanted  to  sleep  under  a  roof  again  after  being 
in  this  glorious  air  all  day  and  night.  Maybe  we  were 
all  meant  to  be  gypsies.  But  soon  I  must  go  back  to 
my  work." 

"Do  you  work?" 

"Did  you  think  I  tramped  all  my  life,  young 
man?"  asked  the  stranger,  laughing.  "Of  course,  I 
work,  in  the  big  city,  down  among  the  people  who 
don't  know  what  fresh  air  is,  who  rarely  see  a  flower 
or  anything  beautiful,  who  live  in  droves  like  cattle, 
yet  God  the  Father  made  them  and  loves  them,  and 
Christ  the  Son  died  for  them,  and  the  Holy  Spirit 
hovers  over  them." 

His  face  shone  as  if  the  sunset  had  illuminated 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  31 

it,  and  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  boys  who  went 
away  without  trying  to  say  good-bye. 

"Kind  of  cracked,"  was  Tom's  characterization 
of  the  stranger. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  David  said  slowly. 

David  \vas  thinking.  He  did  not  often  exercise 
his  brain  that  way;  it  was  easier  not  to  think,  just  to 
bump  along  through  life  any  old  way.  His  thoughts 
had  suddenly  flown  to  grandmother,  the  little  Dresden 
china  lady  up  in  the  hills  of  Vermont. 

Grandmother  would  understand  this  stranger 
who  talked  about  his  Master  as  if  he  walked  by  his 
side;  grandmother  spoke  the  same  language,  one  that 
David  and  Tom  and  Algie  and  Al  Simons  could  not 
comprehend.  Along  with  French  and  tennis  and  man- 
dolin playing,  would  it  be  better  for  them  if  they  took 
a  course  of  this  kind  of  thing? 

David's  thoughts  were  short  ones,  for  when  they 
had  re-attired  themselves,  rinding  their  clothes  in  the 
right  spot  but  their  comrades  gone,  the  supper  spread 
on  the  flat  rock  drove  everything  else  from  their 
minds. 

"Thought  you  might  be  drowned,"  Stout  Jim  re- 
marked, casually.  He  held  a  sandwich  in  one  hand 
and  a  chicken  leg  in  the  other.  Fat  sandwiches,  the 
Jolly  Good  Fellows  believed  in,  not  the  nice,  dainty 
kind  that  girls  serve  at  afternoon  teas,  and  that  a 
man  can  swallow  at  one  mouthful.  This  had  been  one 
of  the  first  decisions  made  by  the  ten  who  were  linked 
together  in  the  bond  of  fellowship  and  picnics  and 
larks. 


32 

"Much  you  cared,"  retorted  Tom,  helping  him- 
self liberally.  ''Didn't  seem  to  worry  you  much. 
Haven't  lost  your  appetites  any  over  it,  have  you?" 

The  eight  grinned  cheerfully. 

"Hadn't  a  doubt  but  that  you'd  turn  up,"  Al  said. 

"Where'd  you  go  anyway?"  asked  Algie  in  his 
most  languid  tone,  keeping  a  sharp  eye  on  the  amount 
of  food  consumed  by  each  Jolly  Good  Fellow. 

It  wasn't  fair  that  one  should  get  more  than  an- 
other and  there  were  some  who  grabbed.  Yes,  liter- 
ally grabbed.  Algie  was  strong  on  justice. 

David  kicked  Tom  as  he  opened  his  mouth  to  ;m 
swer.  For  some  reason,  he  did  not  want  to  hear  Tom 
analyze  the  strange  man  as  he  was  equal  to  doing,  in 
his  cold,  sarcastic  way,  holding  him  up  to  ridicule  be- 
fore a  lot  of  boys  who  would  laugh  and  scoff  only  too 
easily,  perhaps  pretending  to  be  much  more  irreligious 
than  they  were  actually,  at  heart.  There  were  con- 
tradictions in  David  Ketron's  character. 

"Oh,  I  say!"  exclaimed  Tom,  rubbing  his  ankle, 
"What're  you  tryin'  to  do?  Fall  over  me?" 

David  gave  him  a  sharp  look,  quickly  understood 
by  Tom.  "He  don't  want  me  to  tell  about  the  man," 
Tom  thought.  The  check  burned  in  his  pocket.  What 
Dave  wanted,  went  with  Tom  Parsons. 

He  nodded. 

"All  right.  I'll  forgive  you.  Where's  the  drinks, 
Algie?" 

In  a  row  stood  the  champagne  bottles  without 
which  any  feast  held  by  the  Jolly  Good  Fellows  would 
have  been  a  failure,  deadly  dull. 


THAT  KETKON  STREAK  33 

Algie  opened  one  bottle.  It  popped  loudly. 
Glasses  were  held  up  and  filled  with  amber  liquid 
that  held  excitement  and  false  mirth,  dullness  of  mind 
and  failure  of  judgment  in  its  depth. 

They- all  drank,  clicking  the  glasses  together  as 
David  had  taught  them  to  do  in  foreign  fashion. 

The  man  from  the  cave  watched  them  do  this,  as 
he  came  around  the  corner  with  the  big  tin  kettle  in 
his  hand,  steaming  with  fragrant  odor  of  clam  chowder. 

I  saw  a  picture  once  in  a  famous  art  gallery,  by 
an  artist  whose  name  is  known  all  over  the  world. 
On  the  mountain  side  stood  a  lonely  figure,  clad  in 
loosely-flowing  white  garments.  His  face  was  tender 
in  expression,  but  upon  it  was  written  such  a  sadness 
as  one  rarely  sees. 

Below  him  lay  a  city  of  gray  houses  clustered 
close  together  and  in  its  midst  was  a  great  temple. 
There  were  people  on  the  flat  roofs  of  the  houses  and 
a  haze  like  a  golden  veil  hung  over  them  and  the  city 
and  the  flowers  and  gardens  and  palms. 

Underneath  the  painting  in  its  soft  tints  of  green 
and  violet  and  rose,  were  these  words :  "O  Jerusalem, 
Jerusalem. .  .how  often  would  I  have  gathered  thy 
children  together,  even  as  a  hen  gathereth  her  chickens 
under  her  wings  and  ye  would  not !  Behold  your 
house  is  left  unto  you  desolate." 

A  similar  expression  was  on  the  strange  man's 
face,  as  he  looked  down  upon  the  ten  strong  youths 
raising  to  their  lips  and  draining  the  liquor  which 
could  bring  with  it  naught  but  destruction  and  pain. 

He  stepped  forward  briskly. 


34  THAT  KETKUN  STREAK 

"Hello,  boys!  Like  clam  chowder?  I  made  a 
big  pot  full  today.  Guess  there's  enough  to  go  around 
and  I'd  like  to  share  it  with  you." 

"Like  chowder?    Well,  I  guess,"  called  out  one  lad. 

Algie  sized  up  the  stranger  and  in  spite  of  his 
rough  trousers,  his  crumpled  shirt  and  shock  of  wavy 
hair,  was  able  to  see  the  man  underneath. 

"We  haven't  any  plates,  sir." 

"Well,  I  have.  They're  under  my  arm.  If  some- 
body will  show  me  the  best  place  to  put  my  kettle, 
we'll  have  these  tin  plates  filled  in  a  jiffy.  I  always 
have  a  lot  of  them  on  hand,  because  one  never  knows 
when  one  may  have  a  guest  —  like  tonight." 

"Where'd  he  come  from?"  whispered  Stout  Jim 
to  Tom. 

"Straight  down  from  heaven,"  Tom  spoke  more 
truly  than  he  knew.  "Accept  your  blessings,  eat  your 
chowder  and  ask  questions  afterward." 

Ten  spoons  were  dipped  into  ten  plates  of  smok- 
ing chowder  and  there  was  silence  for  a  few  minutes. 

"Mighty  good,"  was  Stout  Jim's  commendation. 

"I'd  like  the  recipe,"  Algie  remarked.  "Our  cook 
can't  make  anything  like  this." 

The  man  glanced  at  Algie's  immaculate  white  suit, 
at  his  ladylike,  manicured  hands,  at  his  general  get-up 
and  his  eyes  danced  with  fun. 

"It's  a  very  simple  recipe.  Dig  the  clams  just  as 
the  sun  is  rising  and  the  clouds  are  all  pink  and  gossa- 
mer. Raise  the  tomatoes  in  your  own  garden,  see 
them  grow  from  tiny  plants  until  they  bear  ripe  red 
beauties.  Go  out  into  the  woods  and  make  your  own 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  35 

oven  and  cook  your  own  chowder.  I'll  guarantee  that 
nothing  ever  has  or  ever  will  taste  so  good  as  that." 

Algie  joined  in  the  hearty  laughter  that  went 
around ;  he  could  bear  a  joke  at  his  own  expense. 

Al  Simons'  heart  warmed  to  the  stranger. 

"You  haven't  had  one  bit  of  your  own  chowder. 
There  isn't  a  drop  left." 

"Oh,  I  say,"  began  David. 

"I'll  take  a  sandwich  instead,  if  you  will  allow  me. 
Good  old-fashioned  kind,  these." 

Algie  beamed. 

"Pass  him  the  chicken,  boys,  and  do  have  some 
jelly.  Totty,  hand  out  the  champagne." 

"Have  to  open  another  bottle." 

"I  don't  want  any,  thank  you ;  never  learned  to 
like  it." 

"Missed  a  lot,"  remarked  Tom. 

"I  don't  know.  There  as  so  many  good  things 
in  this  world  that  one  more  or  less  don't  matter.  I 
know  the  best  spring,  water's  cold  as  ice." 

"Where  is  it?"  said  one.  "I  would  like  a  glass 
of  good  water." 

"Shall  we  find  it?" 

"Let's !" 

The  whole  ten  were  on  their  feet,  Stout  Jim  tak- 
ing the  opportunity  to  supply  himself  with  two  slices 
of  jelly-cake  and  some  olives. 

Off  they  tramped,  following  the  man,  who  walked 
with  the  easy,  springy  tread  of  an  athlete. 

"It  has  to  be  drank  out  of  a  tin  cup  to  be  really 
delicious.  I'm  sorry  that  I  don't  own  more  than  one 


36  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

cup,  but  we  might  wash  the  chowder  kettle  and  fill 
that  to  carry  back." 

"I'll  wash  it,"  said  Tom,  grown  enthusiastic.  Had 
he  ever  thought  of  ridiculing  this  most  delightful  man  ? 
Never  mind  if  he  did  believe  some  old-fashioned  stuff, 
he  deserved  to  be  one  of  the  Jolly  Good  Fellows. 

The  spring  was  in  a  rock  overhung  with  ferns. 
The  stranger  was  right.  It  was  ice-cold,  delicious. 

Out  of  the  battered  tin  cup  with  no  handle,  each 
one  took  a  long  drink.  Algie  asked  for  a  second  one. 
Then  they  all  traveled  back  to  the  sandy  shore,  two 
of  Algie's  henchmen  bearing  the  kettle. 

"We  wont  open  any  more  bottles  just  now,"  com- 
manded the  chief.  "I'm  going  just  full  up  with 
water." 

"So  am  I,"  said  Tom.  "Let's  build  a  fire  and  sit 
around  it  and  tell  stories.  It's  a  bit  cool  now  that  the 
sun  is  gone." 

"Totty  and  Jim,  you  go  and  gather  wood.  It's  a 
fine  scheme.  You'll  stay  won't  you,  sir?"  Algie  asked. 

"Surely,  if  you're  sure  I  won't  spoil  the  fun." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  shouted  the  chorus.  "Oh. 
you're  a  Jolly  Good  Fellow  an'  don't  you  forget  it," 
they  sang. 

"Much  obliged.  I  know  how  to  lay  that  wood. 
You  ought  to  have  seen  the  fires  we  made  on  cool 
nights  when  I  was  tramping  in  the  Alps." 

"Tell  us  about  it,"  said  David. 

They  made  a  circle  around  the  fire  and  kept  piling 
on  sticks  until  the  flames  went  high  into  the  air  and 
were  reflected  in  the  smooth  waters  of  the  indentation 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  37 

made  by  the  sea  between  two  encircling  walls  of  rock. 
The  moon  rose,  a  ball  of  gold  on  the  horizon.  The 
old  man  in  the  moon  grinned  when  he  saw  the  boys 
and  sailed  on  up  into  the  heavens  shedding  all  over 
the  beach  and  rocks  and  pines  a  silvery  light. 

"Of  course,  I'll  tell  you  about  it.  .Ever  been 
there?" 

"I  have,"  answered  David,  "went  two  years  ago 
with  my  father." 

David  was  sitting  next  to  the  stranger.  He  felt 
that  he  had  something  in  common  with  this  man  who 
understood  so  well  the  soul  of  a  youth  and  could  meet 
him  on  his  own  ground. 

"Well,  some  day  I'm  going  over  there  myself 
pretty  soon.  I  want  to  be  in  the  midst  of  the  recon- 
struction. You  know  that  is  what  our  Master  wants 
us  to  do.  'Ge  ye  into  all  the  world  and  preach  the 
Gospel'  doesn't  mean  by  any  means  that  a  fellow  has 
to  be  a  preacher  and  stand  in.  a  pulpit  in  a  gown  and 
talk  to  a  congregation,  though  of  course,  that's  a  big 
thing  to  do.  It  means  to  go  out  among  people  and 
just  live  Jesus  before  them,  to  go  among  the  poor  and 
give  them  food." 

Even  Tom  the  cynic  listened  and  Algie  forgot 
to  lounge.  The  tones  of  the  man's  voice  held  them, 
the  truth  of  what  he  said  touched  them.  They  were 
not  bad;  they  were  only  hearty,  happy  boys  who 
were  groping  their  way  through  the  mysteries  of 
youth  into  the  mysteries  of  manhood  without  a  guide. 

There  is  something  very  fascinating  about  a  per- 
son who  is  in  dead  earnest.  Every  one  of  these  ten 


38  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

Jolly  Good  Fellows  appreciated  sincerity  —  they  were 
keen  in  their  estimates  and  knew  a  fraud  when  they 
saw  him.  Every  one  of  them  believed  in  this  stranger, 
though  they  had  not  the  slightest  idea  where  he  came 
from,  and  liked  him  because  he  was  genuine  and  be- 
cause he  was  not  one  bit  ashamed  of  his  religion. 
After  all,  as  Tom  had  said,  he  has  a  right  to  believe 
what  he  pleases. 

"Dear  me  one  would  think  that  I  was  a  preacher 
myself,"  the  man  said,  with  sudden  change  of  air. 
"I  was  going  to  tell  of  camping  in  the  Alps.  It  was 
fifteen  years  ago,  when  I  was  about  as  old  as  you.  I 
was  just  out  of  college  and  my  father  sent  me  to 
Europe  to  get  a  shine  on  me,  he  said.  Sort  of  polish- 
ing process,  you  know.  Well,  I  got  polished  up  in 
some  pretty  undesirable  ways  that  my  father  didn't 
expect,  but  I  had  a  specially  good  time  in  the  moun- 
tains." 

The  lads  sat  around  the  fire,  entranced  by  the 
stories  they  heard.  No  ignorant  tramp  was  this,  but 
a  cultivated  gentleman,  who  had  been  all  over  the 
world,  who  had  seen  the  sun  rise  on  the  mountains  of 
Korea,  the  Hermit  Kingdom,  had  climbed  the  Hima- 
layas in  India  and  spent  days  in  the  lonely  desert, 
knew  how  to  ride  a  camel  or  an  elephant,  and  could 
tell  tales  of  kangaroos. 

The  hours  passed  and  the  man  in  the  moon  con- 
tinued to  laugh  high  above  them,  for  he  saw  the  bot- 
tles of  champagne  with  their  gilt  labels  remain  corked, 
he  saw  the  kettle  of  spring  water  emptied. 

He  almost   heard   Tom   say   to   Algie,   as   Totty 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  39. 

packed  the  dishes  away  in  the  empty  hampers :  "Why, 
we've  got  all  this  stuff  left!" 

"Oh,  well,  we've  had  a  great  time  and  we'll  leave 
them  till  our  next  picnic." 

Tom  went  with  David  to  leave  the  car  at  the 
garage.  As  they  walked  back  to  the  quadrangle  where 
they  wrould  separate,  for  Tom  Parsons  could  not  af- 
ford to  live  in  such  luxurious  quarters,  he  said : 
"That  fellow  seems  to  be  a  crank  only  on  one  subject 
and  that's  religion." 

"Maybe  it  would  be  better  for  us  all  if  there  were 
more  cranks  like  him,"  was  David's  unexpected  reply. 

"Ain't  gettin'  religious,  are  you?"  sneered  Tom. 

Faithful  Andrew  had  not  gone  to  bed.  He  was 
waiting,  rather  dreading  to  see  his  young  employer 
as  he  would  return.  To  his  surprise,  the  colored  man 
heard  no  shouting  on  the  stairs.  David  came  in 
quietly,  and  perfectly  sober. 

"Now  Andrie,  why  didn't  you  do  what  I  told  you 
to?  I  didn't  need  you." 

"There's  a  cup  o'  chocolate  fer  yo',  Master  David, 
an'  some  cake." 

"That  tastes  good,  Andrie." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  saw  a  man  of  your  kind  tonight." 

"My  kind?" 

"Well,  not  exactly,  but  he  believes  that  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  sticks  to  us  poor  fellows,  even  when  we're 
in  trouble." 

Andrew  went  away  to  his  small  room  in  town. 

"Oh,  Lo'd,"  he  whispered,  "I'm  jest  a  goin'  to 
keep  prayin'  and  you'll  do  the  rest,  sure." 


CHAPTER  FOUR 
Davie   Drinks   a   Cup   of   Tea 

TOM  PARSONS  came  to  David's  room  just 
after  ethics  class.  He  yawned  vigorously, 
stretching  his  arms. 

"What  fools  we  all  were  last  night,  Davie,  to  be 
hoodwinked  by  that  crank.  Lost  half  our  fun  too. 
Simons  says  — 

David  looked  up  from  the  book  he  was  reading, 
"perfecting  French"  he  called  his  occupation.  The 
book  was  bound  in  brilliant  yellow.  Its  title  was 
Le  crime  de  Roland  highly  educative  in  the  things 
of  sense  and  beauty,  highly  defective  in  moral  tone 
and  teaching.  David  could  read  French  easily,  he  had 
had  a  charming  good  "bonnie"  in  his  childhood  and 
had  spent  much  time  in  beautiful  France,  after  bis 
father  "struck  it  rich." 

This  was  one  of  the  bonds  between  him  and  Ines 
Guille,  this  common  love  for  France. 

"I  thought  him  a  very  interesting  man,"  David 
interrupted  with  an  air  of  hauteur  that  he  assumed  at 
times,  an  air  that  Tom  Parsons  detested. 

"Religious  crank.  Just  fancy  the  Jolly  Good 
Fellows  sitting  there  quietly,  listening  to  Scripture !" 
Tom  gave  way  to  mirth.  "And  not  one  of  us  has  been 
to  church  for  a  year.  Oh,  it's  a  good  one.  on  us." 

"I  went  at  Christmas  time,"  remarked  David, 
joining  in  the  laugh.  It  was  too  ridiculous  to  think 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  41 

that  ten  such  advanced  and  modern  fellows  as  the 
Jolly  Good  Fellows  should  have  been  hypnotized  by  a 
man  who  lived  in  a  cave  and  talked  about  Jesus  as  if 
he  knew  him  well  and  considered  him  really  an  elder 
brother. 

"You  ought  to  hear  Algie  talk  this  morning.  He's 
waked  up,  has  Algie." 

"Without  a  headache.    So  did  I.'' 

"He  has  a  queer  notion  about  this  crank,  thinks 
that  in  spite  of  his  strange  ways,  he's  one  of  us,  a 
man  of  intellect." 

David  stared. 

"Was  Algie  referring  to  you?"  he  asked  pointedly. 

"You  needn't  rub  it  in  if  I  did  flunk  on  math," 
blurted  out  Tom,  his  face  scarlet  with  annoyance.  "I 
passed  up  anyway  and  you  didn't  do  much  better." 

"No,  I  didn't,"  David  confessed,  "and  dad  didn't 
like  it  any  too  well,  either.  Now,  if  I  studied  like  my 
cousin  Eleanor  does,  I  could  make  my  family  glad 
that  I  belong  to  it.  I  wonder  how  it  would  feel  to 
take  honors." 

"I  guess  Hugh  Hinson  is  in  for  some.  They  say 
he'll  take  the  Snowden  prize.  But  not  for  all  the 
honors  would  I  live  as  he  does  in  a  stuffy  hole  down 
by  the  factories ;  gets  part  of  his  meals  and  has  his 
dinners  at  a  cheap  boarding  house." 

David  was  not  in  good  humor  this  morning  as 
he  ought  to  be,  having  come  home  in  a  normal  con- 
dition and  having  the  knowledge  of  a  big  surplus  in 
the  bank. 


42  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

The  truth  was  that  some  things  said  by  the 
stranger  as  they  sat  around  the  brushfire  in  the  moon- 
light and  the  waves  lapped  softly  on  the  sandy  beach, 
had  struck  very  close  home.  He  could  not  forget 
them. 

"Hugh  pays  his  bills  and  doesn't  sponge  on  any- 
body," he  remarked  so  sharply  that  Tom,  the 
sycophant,  winced. 

For  the  moment,  he  had  forgotten  his  business, 
he  had  even  forgotten  the  check  given  him  by  David 
the  day  before.  He  intended  to  apply  it  as  part  pay- 
ment to  a  very  unaccommodating  tailor  who  insisted 
on  seeing  some  money  before  he  would  consent  to  cut 
the  handsome  cloth  selected  by  Tom  for  his  winter's 
suit. 

"Oh,  Hugh's  all  right,"  Tom  answered,  disregard- 
ing the  implication  in  David's  words.  "I  expect  he'll 
be  a  great  man  when  we  are  just  plodding  along. 
That's  the  way  it  comes  out  in  story  books.  Honest, 
poor,  industrious,  successful." 

"Funny  we  never  asked  him  his  name,"  said 
David. 

"Nor  did  he  ask  ours." 

"I  guess  he  thought  we  were  just  human  beings 
and  he  didn't  care  who  our  fathers  were  nor  ho\v 
much  money  we  had.  Maybe  he  was  the  right  kind." 

"You're  daffy  yourself,  Dave,  this  morning. 
Come  out  and  have  a  game  of  tennis." 

"Don't  care  if  I  do.  Andrie,  bring  me  my  racket 
and  balls,  please,  or  maybe  you'd  better  carry  them 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  43 

over  to  the  court.  It's  sultry  this  morning  and  I  can't 
do  more  than  carry  myself." 

The  millionaire's  son  sallied  forth,  clad  in  flannels, 
and  in  a  lordly  manner  led  the  way  with  Tom,  while 
Andrew,  black  and  shining,  brought  up  the  rear,  bear- 
ing the  implement  of  pleasure. 

"And  now  for  Ines,"  breathed  David.  He  was 
fresh  from  a  bath  into  which  Andrew  had  put  some 
perfume,  not  knowing  that  in  so  doing  he  was  merely 
following  the  example  of  the  Romans  two  thousand 
years  ago,  the  people  who  loved  luxury  and  sensuality. 
He  was  arrayed  in  his  best  and  his  face  was  flushed 
with  excitement. 

There  were  many  in  the  university  who  would 
have  envied  David  Ketron  if  they  had  known  that  he 
was  on  the  way  to  the  white  house  with  the  white 
pillars,  where  dwelt  Ines  Guille,  the  most  beautiful 
and  to  many  people  the  most  inaccessible  girl  in  the 
whole  town. 

"Whither  away?"  called  out  Algie  as  the  immacu- 
late David  passed  beneath  his  window. 

"Going  out  to  tea,"  David  answered. 

Algie  leaned  out  further  and  whispered  hoarsely. 

"To  see  fair  Ines?" 

David  frowned,  nodded  and  went  on  his  way 
across  the  campus,  in  front  of  buildings  hung  with 
ivy,  the  growth  of  many  years,  and  down  the  long 
street  till  he  came  to  the  house  where  Ines  had  stood 
yesterday,  waving  her  hand. 

Decidedly,  if  Ines  was  cold  to  most  people,  she 
was  not  so  to  David.  She  came  forward  to  meet  him, 


44  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

speaking  some  pleasant  words  in  her  formal  foreign 
fashion. 

"Aunt  Lennie,  Mr.  Ketron  has  come.  Will  you 
make  the  tea?" 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Ketron,"  said  Mrs.  Stewart. 
"You'll  find  that  bamboo  chair  comfortable,  I  think. 
Isn't  it  hot  today?  There's  a  storm  coming  up.  Al- 
ready I  hear  thunder  rumbling,"  the  lady  rambled  on. 

Ines  Guille  was  different  in  many  ways  from  the 
other  girls  whom  David  knew.  She  was  lithe  and 
graceful.  Today,  she  wore  a  soft  gown  of  lemon  yel- 
low, singularly  becoming  to  one  who  had  the  dark 
complexion  of  a  Spaniard  and  the  dark  eyes  of  an 
Italian,  large  and  languorous.  When  Ines  smiled,  she 
was  like  a  child,  her  cheeks  dimpling,  her  regular  teeth 
gleaming  between  well-formed  lips,  red  as  the 
coral  from  the  South  Seas. 

When  Ines  frowned,  the  ancestors  of  long  ago, 
the  Spanish  Senoras  who  lived  in  Granada  and  wore 
lace  mantillas  over  their  sleek  heads,  would  have  seen 
themselves,  reproduced  in  her  face,  with  all  its  mystery 
of  the  Orient  and  the  Moors. 

Today  she  did  not  frown,  but  every  time  that  the 
thunder  rolled  over  the  sky,  as  the  clouds  became 
heavier,  she  shuddered  and  looked  anxiously  at  the 
window. 

"Let's  have  some  light,  Aunt  Lennie,"  she  said, 
at  last.  "The  sky  is  like  ink." 

"It's  going  to  be  a  big  blow,  I  fancy,"  said  David, 
helping  her  turn  on  the  burners  until  the  room  was 
lighted  brilliantly. 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  45 

"I  don't  like  it,"  Ines  said  under  her  breath. 

The  maid  brought  a  large  silver  tray,  laden  with 
cups  and  saucers,  with  an  artistic  tea-service,  heavily 
chased,  and  set  it  down  upon  a  small  tabouret  inlaid 
with  mother  of  pearl,  in  front  of  Mrs.  Stewart. 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Ines,"  reproved  Mrs.  Stewart, 
as  her  neice  grew  more  silent.  "Drink  your  tea.  Mr. 
Ketron,  you'll  have  some  of  the  .cakes,  won't  you? 
What  will  Mr.  Ketron  think  of  you  if  you  act  like  a 
silly  child,  Ines?" 

Mr.  Ketron  was  thinking  various  things  at  this 
moment  and  one  was  that  he  liked  Ines  Guille  far  bet- 
ter in  this  mood,  when  she  was  quiet  and  subdued, 
than  he  did  when,  in  all  her  regal  beauty,  she  con- 
ducted herself  like  an  imperious  queen.  He  was  won- 
dering whether,  after  all,  there  might  not  be  in  the 
girl  who  had  fascinated  him  and  many  others  by  her 
grace  and  foreign  manners,  the  qualities  that  go  to 
make  up  the  real  woman.  Aunt  Lennie,  who  hadn't 
a  nerve  in  her  whole  body,  could  not  realize  that  Ines 
was  actually  suffering,  not  from  imaginary  fears,  but 
from  the  excitement  which  many  a  high-strung  person 
feels  in  the  approach  of  a  terrific  tempest. 

A  terrible  tempest  this  one  threatened  to  be.  The 
lightning  was  plainly  visible,  for  the  lights  had  gone 
out,  probably  the  powerhouse  was  struck.  The  crash- 
ing thunder  was  ceaseless  and  the  house  shook  with 
blasts  of  wind. 

The  tea  was  untouched,  even  cool  Aunt  Lennie 
confessing  that  she  would  leave  hers  till  later,  it  was 
too  hot  to  drink  anyway.  Ines  sat  curled  up  in  a  big 


46  THAT  KETKON  STREAK 

easy-chair,  her  face  hidden  in  a  pillow  and  David,  not 
knowing  just  what  to  do  in  this  unexpected  emergency, 
went  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

Electric  storms  had  no  effect  upon  him ;  he  en- 
joyed seeing  the  blue  and  copper  flashes  darting  down 
in  jagged  fire,  he  liked  to  see  the  thick  branches  of 
the  oaks  bending  like  the  limbs  of  giants  writhing  in 
a  power  greater  than  their  own.  On  the  paths,  rivers 
of  water  were  running  and  the  rain  fell  in  torrents. 
It  was  one  of  those  autumn  storms  that  washes  away 
the  accumulated  dust  of  summer  and  makes  every 
leaf  and  blade  of  grass  fresh  and  clean. 

To  his  astonishment,  he  saw  a  man  coming  to- 
ward the  house,  battling  against  the  wind  and  rain. 
He  wore  a  long  rubber  coat  and  was  bareheaded.  An 
umbrella  would  have  been  utterly  useless.  Besides 
this  one,  solitary  figure,  there  was  no  human  being  to 
be  seen  abroad.  The  storm  had  driven  all  to  shelter. 

The  man  reached  the  porch,  shook  himself  like  a 
wet  dog,  and  disappeared,  presumably  into  the  house. 
A  few  moments  later,  David  heard  a  door  open  and 
turning,  saw  the  man  coming  into  the  adjoining 
library,  then  between  the  columns  into  the  parlor 
where  he  and  Mrs.  Stewart  and  Ines  were,  not  ex- 
changing a  word. 

The  maid,  white  and  trembling,  had  lighted  the 
candles  at  the  piano,  on  either  side  of  the  fireplace, 
in  the  Venetian  candelabra,  five  branched  and  wrought 
in  glass,  designs  of  roses  and  festoons  of  blue  ribbon. 
In  their  soft  radiance,  the  room  took  on  a  festive  ap- 
pearance and  became  more  cheerful. 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  47 

With  the  man's  entrance  came  an  atmosphere  of 
strength. 

"Hello,"  he  said,  "what's  the  matter  here?  It 
isn't  a  funeral,  is  it?  It's  just  one  of  the  grandest 
demonstrations  of  nature  anybody  ever  saw.  Out 
where  I  live,  the  trees  are  doing  their  best  to  stand, 
fighting  bravely,  too." 

Ines  sprang  up  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  and 
rushed  toward  him,  her  face  transfigured  with  joy. 

"Oh,  Guy,  Guy!  how  good  of  you  to  come." 

She  hung  on  his  arm  and  he  patted  her  cheek  as 
if  she  had  been  a  little  child. 

"I  thought  you'd  be  nervous,  dear,  so  I  came." 

"You  think  of  everything,  Guy." 

"Of  those  whom  I  love,  dear,  constantly." 

A  terrific  crash  and  flash  silenced  Ines.  She  clung 
to  the  new-comer,  who  had  come  out  into  the  storm 
because  he  knew  that  she  would  need  him  and  soothed 
her. 

"Don't  be  afraid.  God  is  in  the  storm,  dear.  He 
wants  us  to  realize  His  power  and  majesty,  as  well  as 
His  love  and  pity,"  he  whispered. 

All  storms  pass  and  so  did  this  one.  The  clouds 
rolled  away  toward  the  south,  the  patches  of  blue  sky 
became  larger,  the  sun  peeped  through,  jolly  as  ever, 
to  show  that  he  was  still  there. 

"I've  heard  that  voice  before,"  thought  David, 
coming  back  from  the  window.  "Where  was  it,  I 
wonder?" 

The  man   went  to  the  candelabra  and  blew  out 


48  THAT  KKTUOX   STKKAK 

the  candles  as  if  he  were  at  home.  Ines  left  the  room 
and  Mrs.  Stewart  rang  the  bell  for  the  maid. 

"Please  bring  some  hot  tea,  Jennie.  I  guess  we 
can  drink  it  in  peace  now." 

"The  old  elm  has  fallen,  sir."  Jennie  addressed 
herself  to  the  tall  man  who  was  disposing  of  the 
candles  on  the  piano. 

"I'm  sorry  for  that,  Jennie,"  he  answered. 

"Do  you  know  my  nephew,  Mr.  Ketron?  Mr. 
Guy  Guille,  Ines's  brother." 

"Oh,  Iknow  Mr.  Ketron,  by  face  if  not  by  name. 
Met  him  last  evening." 

David  returned  the  hearty  clasp  of  a  strong  hand. 

"You're  —  you're  different,"  Davie  stammered. 

"No  more  the  wild  man  of  the  woods,  eh? 
Clothed  and  in  my  right  mind,"  Mr.  Guille  replied, 
with  a  pleasant  laugh.  "The  truth  is  that  Aunt  Lennie 
and  Ines  wanted  me  to  stay  here  and  live  in  a  civilized 
way,  but  I  much  prefer  my  own  cave  and  my  spring  of 
fresh  water,  though  I  turn  up  occasionally  to  show 
that  I'm  a  part  of  the  family." 

"And  let  his  sister  know  that  he  is  caring  for  her 
and  protecting  her,"  Ines  added,  squeezing  her 
brother's  hand. 

"As  big  brothers  should,  dear.  Mr.  Ketron,  I'm 
glad  to  know  you.  We  had  a  good  time  last  night, 
didn't  we?" 

"We  sure  did." 

"Why  couldn't  girls  be  there  too?"  inquired  Ines, 
putting  three  lumps  of  sugar  into  David's  cup  of  tea. 

Mr.  Guille  answered,  winking  boyishly  at  Davie. 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  49 

"You  can't  be  a  Jolly  Good  Fellow,  can  you?" 

"I  just  can  and  you  know  it." 

''That's  so,  Ines,  you  can,  when  you  want  to.  You 
ought  to  see  her  fry  eggs  Indian  fashion  on  a  stone 
spider  in  my  cave,  Mr.  Ketron.  Didn't  know  she 
could  cook,  did  you,  or  fish  in  a  pool  or  wade  — 

"No,  I  didn't,"  replied  David,  "but  I'd  like  to  see 
her  do  it." 

"Well,  you  never  will,"  was  the  saucy  reply. 

David  went  back  to  his  room  with  his  brain  in  a 
whirl.  The  wild  man  of  the  cave,  the  crank  who 
talked  Scripture  and  told  fascinating  stories,  who 
could  make  the  best  clam  chowder  ever,  and  wore  old 
trousers  and  a  torn  shirt,  was  Guy  Guille,  brother  of 
Ines.  Ines,  herself,  was  a  mystery,  too.  At  one  mo- 
ment, the  cold,  proud  girl  dressed  in  costly  garments; 
turning  the  heads  of  susceptible  youth,  driving  her 
expensive  yellow  car  so  fast  that  the  police  wanted  to 
catch  her  and  make  her  pay  a  fine ;  at  the  other,  a  tear- 
ful child,  clinging  to  her  brother,  or  a  girl  who  liked  to 
fish  and  could  fry  eggs,  Indian  fashion,  on  a  stone 
spider. 

"Girls  are  surely  strange  creatures,"  he  said. 

"Hey,  there!  Look  where  you're  going,  Dave. 
You  just  stepped  into  a  puddle." 

"Algie,"  said  David,  solemnly,  "we  were  all  fools 
last  night,  worse  than  we  thought." 

"I  rather  think  we  were,  to  leave  all  that  good 
champagne  because  somebody  —  a  tramp  —  told  us 
stories.  Like  a  lot  of  kids,  we  were." 

"It  wasn't  that.    Do  you  know  who  the  tramp  is  ?'' 


5O  THAT  KKTRON  STREAK 

"No.     Do  you?" 

"He  is  Guy  Guille,  the  artist." 

"Not  the  one  who  painted  A  Stormy  Morning?" 

David  nodded. 

"He's  Ines  Guille's  half  brother,  and  when  he 
isn't  doing  splendid  pictures  he  works  among  the  poor, 
does  lots  and  lots  of  good,  so  Mrs.  Stewart  told  me. 
Now,  who's  the  fool,  eh?" 

"We  called  him  a  crank,"  groaned  Algie.  "Say, 
Dave,  it's  funny  isn't  it?  that  a  fellow  who  has  lived 
in  Paris  and  Rome  and  London  whose  name  is  in 
everybody's  mouth  should  prefer  cold  spring  water 
to  iced  champagne." 

''Maybe  he's  right." 

"Maybe  he  is,  seeing  he's  Guy  Guille,  the  famous 
artist.  If  he  was  James  Potts  the  tramp,  or  Salvation 
Smith  the  preacher,  we'd  say  he  was  wrong  and  didn't 
know  beans,"  Algie  stated  with  conviction. 

One  thing  I'll  tell  you  just  here,  though  it  doesn't 
belong  in  this  part  of  the  story.  Algie  Van  der  Voort 
and  Al  Simons  took  those  bottles  of  champagne  that 
were  left  from  the  feast  back  to  the  dealer  and  ex- 
changed them  for  various  edibles.  And,  at  the  next 
banquet  of  the  Jolly  Good  Fellows,  everybody  drank 
lemonade  and  was  perfectly  contented. 

As  Algie  had  said,  we're  all  human  and  it  made 
a  big  difference  whether  an  example  was  set  by  a 
man  in  old'  trousers  and  torn  shirt,  who  acted  like  a 
gentleman  and  tried  to  live  like  Jesus  Christ,  or  this 
same  man  with  the  same  ideals,  known  to  be  Guy 
Guille,  the  famous  artist ! 


CHAPTER  FIVE 
Eleanor 

ELEANOR  blew  into  David's  sitting-room  on  a 
blustery  day  in  November.     She  literally  blew 
in,   feathers  flying,   skirts  wet,  bringing  with 
her  a  breeze  that  tossed  David's  letters  and  papers 
from  his  desk  and  sent  a  stray  neck-tie  out  of  the 
window. 

"Run  and  pick  it  up,  Andie/'  commanded  David. 
"Hello,  Eleanor,  glad  to  see  you,  but  you  needn't  have 
come  in  quite  such  a  lively  manner.  When'd  you  get 
to  town?" 

"Last  week.     I  couldn't  leave  father  before." 

"How  is  Uncle  Aleck?  Sit  down,  Eleanor,  and 
tell  me  about  everything.  Take  this  chair,  it's  more 
comfortable." 

"Everything  is  comfortable  here,  Davie." 

David  bustled  about,  on  hospitable  thoughts  in- 
tent, pulling  down  a  shade,  beating  up  the  cushions 
on  the  couch  and  finally  settling  himself  opposite  to 
his  guest  and  beaming  upon  her. 

"It's  good  to  look  at  you,  Eleanor.  In  this  life 
of  rush  and  bustle,  you  always  seem  to  be  resting  and 
yet  you  are  ever  busy.  How  do  you  manage  it  ?" 

David  leaned  his  elbows  on  the  big  desk,  littered 
with  scented  notes  and  bills  and  a  few,  a  very  few 
papers  that  implied  studious  work  and  stared  at  his 
cousin. 

(51) 


52  THAT  KETKON  STREAK 

Eleanor  certainly  was  good  to  look  at.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  leafy  shade  of  brown,  her  hat  was  small 
and  bore  one  white  wing,  the  soft  fur  around  her  neck 
was  a  deep  brown ;  a  handsome  stole  it  was,  a  Christ- 
mas gift  from  Uncle  Jared.  Eleanor's  face  "shone 
from  within"  David  had  always  said,  and  he  was 
right.  It  was  the  soul  light  lit  by  divine  illumination, 
by  sincere  love  for  God  and  faith  in  the  Savior  which 
made  Eleanor  Ray  different  from  many  other  girls. 

Her  life  was  not  easy.  An  invalid  father  re- 
quired much  care.  Because  of  his  poor  health,  he  had 
lost  his  position  as  cashier  in  a  bank  and  the  family 
finances  were  falling  behind.  It  was  not  easy  to  be 
cheerful  and  courageous  under  these  circumstances, 
except  the  soul-light  be  kept  burning  brightly,  by 
prayer  and  communion  with  divine  power. 

"I'm  glad  you  like  my  new  dress.  I  made  it  my- 
self, Mr.  Ketron,  I'd  have  you  know,  every  stitch.  It's 
my  beautiful  furs  that  make  me  look  nice." 

"No,  I  think  it's  something  different  from  that," 
David  said  slowly.  "As  to  the  furs,  you  know  very 
well  that  you  could  have  lots  more  pretty  things, 
father  and  I  would  gladly  give  them  to  you,  if  you 
weren't  so  — 

"I  can't  take  much  from  Uncle  Jared,  Davie,  un- 
less he  —  forgets  the  past  and  makes  friends  with 
father  again.  I  must  stick  to  father." 

"Well,  you  could  accept  presents  and  even  money 
from  me,  I'm  not  in  that  old  fuss  about  a  miserable 
piece  of  property  that  wasn't  worth  anything.  It  alj 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  53 

happened  so  long  ago  and  if  father  didn't  hang  on  to 
things  like  Sam  Hill,  he'd  have  forgotten  it  long  ago. 
Grandfather  intended  Uncle  Aleck  to  have  the 
meadow  lot  all  the  time,  only  he  didn't  mention  it 
in  his  will." 

"And  now  the  meadow  lot  is  gone  with  all  the 
rest."  Eleanor  sighed,  just  one  little  sigh. 

"I  have  a  check  book,  dear.  You'll  let  me  help 
you  through  this  year  and  then  you  will  have  more 
time  for  your  study.  I  hate  to  think  of  you  acting  as 
housekeeper  for  that  batch  of  girls  at  Salem  House 
when  you  ought  to  be  having  a  good  time.  You're 
young  yet,  Eleanor,  and  now  is  your  time  to  be  gay 
and  happy.  Let  me  help." 

David  reached  out  his  hand  for  his  check  book 
and  opened  it. 

"It's  a  temptation,  I  don't  deny  it,  Davie,  and  if 
it  was  your  own  money  that  you'd  earned,  I  might  be 
inclined  to  borrow  it.  Not  that  I  dislike  the  work  I 
am  doing,  but  that  it  would  give  me  more  time  for 
other  things  that  I'll  never  get  except  at  college.  It 
isn't  happiness  I  want,  because  I'm  happy,  and  it 
isn't  going  to  last  just  these  few  years  of  youth,  but 
all  through  /life.  But,  Davie,  the  money  is  Uncle 
Jared's  and  it  isn't  loyal  to  father  to  take  it.  A  gift 
once  in  a  while,  there  is  no  harm  in  accepting,  but 
not  money." 

"Perhaps  you're  right,  Eleanor.  It  sounds  funny 
when  you  speak  of  money  I  earn.  It  would  be  a  joke, 
wouldn't  it  for  me  to  have  my  own  bank  account. 
I  suppose  it  sounds  strange  to  you,  but  it  never  oc- 


54  THAT  KKTRON  STREAK 

curred  to  me  that  I  ought  to  be  depending  on  myself 
and  not  on  father,  for  bread  and  butter." 

"Any  fancy  waiscoats  and  cigarettes  and  An- 
drew's wages,"  commented  Eleanor. 

Her  mouth  was  smiling  for  she  liked  this  cousin 
of  hers  and  was  sure  that  he  had  the  makings  of  a 
man  in  him,  if  one  could  only  blow  away  the  froth  of 
artificiality  and  self-pampering. 

"Oh,  I  say,  Eleanor,  you're  hard  on  a  fellow. 
Andrie!  bring  Miss  Ketron  some  hot  chocolate,  will 
you,  please?" 

Eleanor  laid  aside  hat  and  furs  and  prepared  to 
make  herself  at  home. 

"I  see  that  you  want  me  to  pay  you  a  real  visit. 
For  one  hour,  I  can  stay." 

"Wrist  watch  would  make  a  good  birthday  pres- 
ent," David  noted  in  his  mind.  He  had  always  had 
difficulty  in  finding  handsome,  appropriate  presents 
for  this  proud  little  cousin. 

Jared  and  Alexander  Ketron  belonged  to  a  hot- 
headed, stubborn  race.  Years  before,  when  Jared 
was  poor  and  Aleck  was  the  more  prosperous,  a 
meadow  lot  of  small  value  had  caused  a  break  between 
the  brothers.  Jared  thought  that  he  was  misused. 
Aleck  wanted  to  make  up  but  refused  to  say  the  first 
word;  both  were  sorry,  but  neither  would  yield. 
Neither  had  opposed  the  friendship  of  David  and 
Eleanor,  who  were  very  congenial. 

Andrew  brought  hot  chocolate  and  some  vanilla 
wafers  and  Eleanor  ate  them  daintily,  enjoying  the 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  55 

luxury  of  a  blazing  wood  fire  and  a  deep,  cushioned 
chair. 

"I'd  get  to  be  a  regular  sybarite  if  I  lived  as  you 
do,  Davie.  What  do  you  do  to  counteract  all  this 
elegance  and  keep  yourself  fit?" 

"I  take  a  cold  shower  every  morning  and  play 
tennis  in  the  afternoon." 

"Bosh !     I  don't  call  that  anything." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  young  lady  ?  Chop 
wood  or  break  stones  by  the  roadside?" 

"Anything  to  keep  yourself  from  getting  mushy." 

David's  eyes  danced. 

"For  the  leader  of  her  class,  I  consider  the  word 
'mushy'  decidedly  inelegant." 

"You  needn't  fence.  You  know  very  well  what 
I  mean.  Algernon  Van  der  Voort,  lazy  and  languid, 
is  your  dear  friend." 

"Not  so  awfully  dear.  What  do  you  know  about 
Algie?" 

"Met  him  this  summer;  he  came  to  Afton  on  a 
sketching  tour." 

"Ah!     He  didn't  tell  me." 

"Probably  I  did  not  make  enough  impression  on 
his  receptive  mind."  • 

"He  isn't  my  only  friend.  How  about  Hugh  Hin- 
son?  Don't  consider  him  a  dangerous  character,  do 
you  ?" 

The  color  deepened  on  Eleanor's  smooth  cheek, 
but  her  voice  was  steady  as  she  answered :  "Hugh's 
a-  good  friend,  but  I  don't  believe  you  see  much  of 
him." 


56  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

"I  just  do,  Miss.     What  next?" 

"I  detest  Tom  Parsons." 

"Pretty  strong  language.  He's  inoffensive  and 
down  on  his  luck." 

"Living  on  his  friends,  I  should  say."  David 
laughed. 

Seems  to  me  that  you  are  not  very  kind  to  poor 
Tom,  but  I'll  accept  part  of  your  judgment." 

"I  guess  your  check  book  will  verify  it,"  Eleanor 
glanced  at  the  open  check  book  on  the  desk  in  front 
of  David. 

David  followed  her  glance,  a  quick  look  of  sus- 
picion came  into  his  eyes.  He  took  the  book  and 
examined  it  hurriedly,  then  laid  it  back,  still  open. 

"Anything  more,  cousin  mine?" 

"You  think  I'm  scolding,  David.  Honestly,  I'm 
not,  but  I  do  wish  you'd  wake  up  and  see  where  you 
are  going,  and  who  is  leading  you  along  the  path 
where  youth  sees  roses  and  doesn't  notice  the  thorns 
that  sting  and  poison." 

"I  don't  think  you  are  scolding,  Eleanor.  Give 
me  credit  for  a  few  meditations  in  my  solitary  hours." 

"And  then  —  there's  Ine's.  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
go  to  see  her  so  much." 

For  the  first  time,  David  looked  annoyed.  . 

"Let's  not  discuss  Ines,"  he  answered  curtly.  "I 
wish  you'd  get  to  know  her,  Eleanor,  really  I  do. 
She  is  not  the  thoughtless  girl  you  consider  her." 

"Maybe  not,"  Eleanor  responded,  doubtfully, 
picking  up  her  handsome  furs  and  preparing  to  de- 
part. "If  I've  made  myself  disagreeable,  forgive  me, 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  57 

Davie.  It's  only  because  you  are  like  a  brother  to  me, 
and  I'm  so  proud  of  you  and  want  you  to  do  a  lot  of 
good  in  the  world." 

David  took  both  her  hands  and  beamed  upon  her 
good  naturedly.  Eleanor  was  a  little  thing  and  her 
head  came  only  to  his  shoulder. 

"It's  all  right,  kid,  say  anything  to  me  you  like. 
I'll  know  that  it's  meant  for  the  good  of  this  mis- 
guided youth.  But  honestly,  you're  mistaken  about 
Ines.  In  the  first  place,  I  don't  go  there  very  often, 
chiefly,  I  confess,  because  she  doesn't  invite  me.  Sec- 
ondly, she's  more  of  a  genuine,  hearty  girl  than  you'd 
think  to  look  at  her." 

"Looks  are  certainly  deceiving,"  inserted  Eleanor, 
coldly. 

Like  many  a  fine,  upright  girl,  Eleanor  had  her 
own  views  and  hated  to  change  them.  There  was  con- 
siderable of  Jared  and  Alexander  Ketron's  stubborn- 
ness in  her  make-up. 

"Promise  me  that  you'll  be  nice  to  her  when  you 
meet  her  and  will  try  to  see  her  good  points." 

"For  your  sake.  Davie,  I  will." 

"You'd  like  her  brother." 

"Who  is  her  brother?"  Eleanor  turned  to  look 
at  him.  "I  never  heard  of  him." 

"Oh,  yes  you  did,  many  times.  He's  Guy  Guille, 
the  artist." 

"Who  painted  that  wonderful  picture,  A  Stormy 
Morning?  Can  he  be  Ines  Guille's  brother?" 

"He  sure  is.    Now,  I've  got  you,  Miss.    But  more 


58  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

than  an  artist,  he's  a  man  who  actually  believes  in 
God  and  walks  with  Jesus  Christ  at  his  side." 

"Oh,  Davie!"  Eleanor  breathed,  in  her  astonish- 
ment. Never  before  had  she  heard  David  mention 
the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  except  in  a  critical 
manner,  as  he  would  have  spoken  of  an  ordinary  man. 
There  was  feeling  and  reverence  in  his  manner  now. 

"He'll  be  here  a  week  longer.  I'll  manage  it  to 
have  you  both  for  tea  some  afternoon.  Will  you 
come  ?" 

"Will  I  come  ?    You  dear  boy !    Of  course  I  will." 

"And  I'll  invite  Ines  too,"  David  smiled  mis- 
chievously. 

"All  right.    I'll  be  nice  to  her.    Good-bye,  Davie." 

Eleanor  vanished  and  was  blown  out  into  a  windy 
world. 

David  sat  down  again  and  stared  at  his  open 
check  book.  He  was  not  thinking,  of  his  cousin,  nor 
of  Ines,  nor  even  of  his  new  friend,  Guy  Guille,  but 
of  that  innocent  little  book. 

"It's  queer,"  he   muttered,    "mighty  queer." 

"Two  days  later,  David  phoned  to  Eleanor  at 
Salem  House,  over  which  she  had  authority  as  house- 
keeper and  thereby  paid  all  her  expenses  of  living  and 
had  enough  over  for  her  tuition  fee. 

"They'll  come  today,  at  four-thirty.  Put  on  your 
prettiest  gown  and  come  over." 

"Will  the  green  crepe  do?" 

"Fine." 

"I'll  be  there." 

"Oh.  Eleanor." 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  59 

"Yes,  Davie." 

"You'll  pour  tea,  won't  you  ?" 

"Gladly." 

David  knew  how  to  entertain.  More  than  this, 
he  was  proud  of  his  little  cousin,  who  held  such  a 
good  position  in  her  class.  He  did  not  want  to  be  a 
grind,  thank  goodness,  but  he  was  happy  that  someone 
in  the  family  did  have  some  ambitions  in  this  line. 

Besides  being  a  good  student,  Eleanor  was  es- 
sentially feminine. 

"You're  a  peach,"  he  complimented,  when  she  ar- 
rived, the  first  guest. 

She  dropped  him  a  courtesy. 

"Here  comes  Algie.  First  on  the  scene.  Told 
him  you'd  be  here.  He  didn't  know  that  you  were 
my  cousin." 

Algie  hovered  around  Eleanor  as  she  made  tea 
in  the  handsome  Samovar  that  David  had  brought 
from  Russia.  It  was  of  deep-tinted  copper,  of  curi- 
ous shape,  had  been  purchased  in  a  bazaar  where 
strange  languages  were  spoken  and  quaint  costumes 
were  worn  by  men  with  mystical  faces  and  liquid 
voices,  full  of  the  sorrows  of  centuries  of  oppression. 

"Hugh,  you  know  Eleanor." 

Eleanor  held  out  her  hand  and  Hugh  took  it 
and  was  tongue-tied.  How  could  Algie  talk  to  this 
fair  maid  in  the  green  gown  as  if  she  were  made  of 
common  clay. 

But  when  Algie  melted  away,  to  give  place  to 
Guy  Guille,  Hugh  found  his  tongue.  Guy  knew  ex- 


60  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

actly  how  to  put  every  one  at  his  ease,  to  bring  out 
the  best  that  was  in  them. 

Soon  the  three  around  the  tea-tray  were  laughing 
and  talking  as  if  they  had  known  each  other  always. 
Eleanor  and  Hugh  forgot  that  the  man  who  knew 
how  to  tell  such  delightful  stories,  who  emanated  such 
an  attractive  personality,  who  was  so  simple  in  his 
manner,  was  one  of  those  whose  name  was  known  in 
Europe  as  well  as  America,  who  stood  in  the  first 
rank  of  modern  painters. 

Ines  saw  the  group  and  went  with  David  to  take 
her  cup  of  tea  from  Eleanor's  hand. 

David's  cousin  studied  her  more  carefully  than 
she  had  ever  done.  It  was  evident  that  David  liked 
her;  it  was  evident,  also,  that  she  was  very  beautiful 
in  her  dark,  foreign  style. 

Sitting  down  near  by,  Ines  soon  monopolized  the 
conversation,  the  boys  were  drawn  to  her  as  the  hum- 
ming bird  is  drawn  to  the  flower.  Hugh  Hinson  for- 
got that  he  had  disliked  her  and  found  himself  tell- 
ing a  big  fish  story,  not  realizing  that  everybody  was 
listening. 

Guy  Guille  drew  the  lads  away  and  the  two  girls 
were  left  together.  Then  Eleanor  began  to  see  what 
David  liked  in  this  lovely  girl,  whose  clothes  were 
very  costly,  whose  jewels  were  worth  a  fortune. 

Beneath  the  Georgette  crepe  and  diamonds,  was  a 
girl  like  herself,  simple-hearted,  childishly  credulous, 
yet  with  the  perceptions  of  a  woman.  She  was  as 
well  read  as  Eleanor,  they  talked  of  books  which  were 
the  foundations  of  philosophy,  they  talked  of  poetry 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  61 

and  art,  and  of  course,  they  discussed  the  latest  fash- 
ions— no  two  girls  are  long  together  without  doing  this. 

Hugh  stayed  behind  after  everybody  had  gone. 
He  had  "wanted  to  walk  over  with  Eleanor  but  was 
too  shy  to  go  boldly  out  with  her,  as  Algie  had  done. 

Across  the  campus  he  could  see  them  now,  Guy 
was  talking  to  Eleanor,  who  was  looking  up  at  him, 
and  Algie  walked  with  Ines. 

"I'll  take  it  all  back."  said  Hugh. 

"About  what?" 

David  was  restlessly  moving  here  and  there, 
straightening  the  flowers  in  a  vase,  roses  that  had  been 
specially  ordered  from  the  best  florist,  rearranging 
the  music  on  the  piano. 

Ines  had  sung  for  them,  melodious  French  songs 
and  some  English  ballads.  She  had  providentially 
forgotten  to  take  away  the  music.  He  would  carry  it 
to  her  tomorrow. 

The  party  had  been  a  great  success;  he  was  glad 
that  Eleanor  liked  Ines. 

"About  Miss  Guille." 

"Oh,    yes." 

"She's  got  a  lot  to  her." 

"But  you  like  Eleanor  better." 

Hugh  vanished  out  of  door.  "Good-bye,"  he 
called. 

David  laughed. 

Going  to  his  desk,  he  looked  again  at  the  check 
book  that  puzzled  him. 

"I  wish  I  knew  who  did  this. 

It's  queer;  mighty  queer." 


CHAPTER  SIX 
Turkey  and  Good  Cheer 

DAVID  drove  his  car  to  the  door  of  Salem 
House,  the  abode  of  about  thirty  charming 
damsels  who  were  dividing  their  time  be- 
tween study  and  fun.  He  tooted  his  horn  cheerfully. 

"I  suppose  we'll  have  to  wait,"  he  confided  to 
Hugh,  with  a  resigned  air,  leaning  back  on  the  seat. 
"Girls  always  have  to  find  their  duds  at  the  last 
minute." 

"I  thought  Eleanor  was  —  well,  different." 

"She's  a  girl,"  Davie  answered,  conclusively. 
"They're  all  alike." 

Evidently  Eleanor  was  just  the  same  as  the  rest, 
for  the  two  lads  in  the  car  watched  the  tiny  clock 
tick  away  ten  long  minutes. 

David  was  very  silent —  for  him.  He  acted  glum, 
absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts,  a  strange  thing  for 
light-hearted  David  Ketron.  Occasionally,  he  looked 
sharply  at  Hugh  as  if  he  were  trying  to  study  him  in 
a  new  light.  There  was  affection  struggling  with  sus- 
picion in  the  glance.  It  was  not  like  David  to  be  sus- 
picious. Up  to  the  present  he  had  been  almost  too 
credulous,  too  ready  to  believe  in  everybody  who  said 
nice  things  to  him. 

The  truth  is  that  on  this  November  day,  when  the 
air  smelled  of  snow,  and  fragrant  odors  wafted  from 
neighbors'  kitchens  told  of  pumpkin  pies  and  spice 

(62) 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  63 

cakes,  of  preparation  for  the  morrow's  feast,  when 
everybody  would  give  thanks  for  the  mercies  of  the 
year,  David  was  absorbing  a  slow  poison,  inserted  by 
Tom  Parsons,  the  evening  before. 

"You  look  sharp  on  Hugh  Hinson,"  he  said  warn- 
ingly.  "He  isn't  what  he  seems.  Too  pious  by  half, 
'cording  to  my  notions.  Does  too  much  prayin'  an' 
not  enough  practicin'.  They  say  he's  been  turning  in 
some  pretty  big  checks  at  the  bank  lately,  havin'  'em 
cashed.  Potter  the  assistant  cashier  told  me.  Now 
how  does  a  fellow  like  him  get  big  checks  to  cash. 
I'd  like  to  know.  He's  poor  as  Job's  turkey,  like  my- 
self." 

These  words  had  sunk  into  David's  mind  partly 
because  he  was  thinking  pretty  hard  about  checks 
these  days.  There  was  a  mystery  somewhere  and  he 
did  not  know  how  to  untangle  it. 

Strange  to  say,  when  David  was  not  glancing  at 
Hugh,  Hugh  was  glancing  at  David,  not  in  suspicion, 
but  with  a  sort  of  pity  on  his  bonny  face,  as  if  he 
wanted  to  help  his  friend  and  didn't  know  just  how. 

"Here  she  is!" 

Hugh  sprang  out  to  open  the  door  for  Eleanor 
and  help  her  in.  He  tucked  a  soft  fur  robe  around 
her. 

"Got  plenty  of  wraps,  Eleanor?"  David  asked. 
"It's  a  good  hundred  and  twenty-five  miles  up  to 
Hillside  and  the  air  feels  like  snow.  Guess  we  won't 
get  it  today,  but  we'll  have  a  wintry  Thanksgiving." 

"I'm  warmly  dressed,  Davie,  and  I'm  not  afraid 
of  the  cold." 


64  THAT  KKTKON   STREAK 

"Hurry  up  then,  Hugh.  We  must  go  and  pick 
ii]>  Mr.  Guille.  It's  jolly  that  he  can  go  with  us." 

"Where  is  Ines?" 

"Gone  off  on  a  visit  with  auntie.  Mr.  Guille 
would  have  been  alone  for  Thanksgiving.  He's 
mighty  good  company  and  grandmother  will  like  him 
because  he's  her  kind." 

At  the  house  with  the  white  pillars,  they  did  not 
have  to  wait.  Guy  Guille  was  standing  on  the  pave- 
ment. 

"Hello,"  he  said.  "Isn't  this  great?  Thought 
I'd  have  to  eat  turkey  all  by  myself  tomorrow.  Ran 
up  from  New  York  to  see  Ines,  and  behold !  she  had 
flown." 

"You'll  need  a  warm  coat,"  warned  David. 

Mr.  Guille  threw  his  overcoat  open  to  disclose 
a  fur  lining. 

"Got  it  in  Russia.  They  know  what  cold  weather 
means  there  where  winter  lasts  nine  months  of  the 
year." 

They  were  off,  the  big  car  rushing  along  like  a 
creature  alive,  covering  mile  after  mile  of  open  coun- 
try. They  passed  farm  houses  and  fields  of  corn- 
stubs  and  dried  spears  of  grain,  ran  through  villages 
where  the  trees  stood  grim  and  bare,  having  shed  their 
gorgeous  October  array ;  through  crowded  towns  with 
mill  hands  on  the  street,  at  the  noon  hour.  Weary 
men  and  holloweyed  girls  were  here,  and  little  chil- 
dren, learning  to  work  when  they  should  have  been  in 
school,  in  order  that  the  rich  men  might  have  bigger 
profits  and  more  luxuries. 


'['HAT  KETRON  STREAK  65 

At  one  place,  David  threw  out  his  hand  toward 
a  mass  of  brick  buildings  on  the  border  of  a  lake. 
Interminable  they  seemed  to  be,  with  hundreds  of 
windows.  One  could  hear  the  whirr  of  machinery 
and  catch  the  coppery  flames  of  furnaces. 

"They're  my  father's  factories,  part  of  them.  He 
has  a  lot  in  different  towns,  sort  of  a  chain  of  in- 
dustries." 

"Must  employ  many  persons,"  Guy  Guille  said, 
sitting  up  straighten 

"Thousands." 

"Fine  chance  for  work  among  so  many  em- 
ployes," the  artist  remarked.  "What's  your  father 
doing  for  these  people,  David?  Night  schools  I  sup- 
pose, and  a  place  for  evening  recreation  as  well  as  a 
chance  to  learn  the  better  things  of  life  and  the  way 
to  know  God." 

Guy  Guille  had  such  a  casual  manner  of  refer- 
ring to  religous  things  that  even  a  college  youth,  who 
considered  himself  far  superior  to  such  old-fashioned 
ways  of  thinking,  could  not  call  this  preaching. 

"Blessed  if  I  know,"  replied  David,  "but  I  don't 
believe  he's  doing  anything  much.  Dad  isn't  that 
kind." 

Up  into  the  hills  the  car  went  and  vegetation 
changed.  Here  were  spruces  and  white  birch  and  the 
graceful  larch. 

"Here's  a  good  place  for  lunch,"  Eleanor  said, 
pointing  to  a  flat  field  near  the  river.  "The  sun  is 
out  now,  and  it  feels  warmer." 


66  THAT  KETKON  STREAK 

"1  think  that  it  would  be  better  to  stay  right  here 
in  the  car,  Eleanor.  It  isn't  so  warm  as  you  think. 
See  that  cloud  ?  It  will  snow  before  we  get  to  grand- 
mother's." 

"You're  right,  David.  I've  had  my  eye  on  that 
cloud  for  some  time,"  approved- Mr.  Guille. 

"Hand  out  the  things,  Hugh.  Andrie  surely 
knows  how  to  put  up  a  good  lunch." 

Eating  drives  away  the  dumps  and  it  is  good  for 
nerves  to  feast  in  the  open  air.  David  forgot  his 
grouch,  whatever  it  was,  and  became  his  old,  jolly 
self.  Hugh  forgot  his  own  private  worry  and  they 
had  the  best  time  ever. 

Sure  enough  when  the  car  drove  up  in  front  of 
the  great  elm  planted  by  grandfather's  grandfather, 
when  he  brought  his  wife  to  the  log  cabin  that  had 
preceded  the  comfortable  yellow  farm  house,  the  big 
flakes  were  coming  down  fast. 

"You  go  in,  Eleanor,  and  introduce  Mr.  Guille 
and  Hugh.  I'll  put  the  car  into  the  barn.  How's 
everybody,  Josiah?" 

Josiah  scratched  his  head  and  meditated.  He 
never  believed  in  being  in  a  hurry.  David  had  put 
the  car  in  beside  a  big,  old-fashioned  rockaway,  and 
a  commodious  sleigh  before  the  answer  came,  "We'll 
go  for  a  sleighride  tomorrow  if  there's  snow  enough 
and  take  grandmother  along.  She  used  to  be  a  good 
sport.  And  after  all  an  auto  isn't  in  it  beside  a  sleigh." 

"Your  grandmother's  spry  as  ever,  David.  Been 
a-lookin'  fer  you  ever  sence  I  kin  remember,  mos'. 
My!  you've  growed.  Was  a  leetle  shaver  w'en  you 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  67 

was  here  'fore.  Mus'  be  nigh  onto  ten  year.  We 
ain't  set  eyes  onto  yer  dad  sence,  either.  Ain't  he 
never  married  agin'  sence  your  ma  died  ?" 

"No,"  answered  David.  "We  used  to  have  great 
times  didn't  we  down  by  the  pond?  And  I  liked 
riding  on  the  loads  of  hay." 

Josiah  sat  on  a  bench  and  looked  David  over. 

"Pretty  much  of  a  man,  you  be,  Davie.  Mos' 
twenty-one,  ain't  ye?" 

"In  May." 

"Wish  I  was  young  agin'.  You  bet  I'd  not  be 
wastin'  my  time  choppin'  wood  here.  Why  ain'f  ye 
never  been  here  since  ye  was  a  kid,  Davie?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know." 

But  Davie  did  know  very  well  and  his  face  was  a 
little  hot  as  he  hurried  toward  the  house.  It  was  be- 
cause he  was  a  snob,  he  confessed,  and  thought  that  a 
rich  man's  son  was  above  coming  to  see  an  old  lady 
who  lived  on  a  farm.  That  was  exactly  why,  and  he 
dared  not  deny  it,  even  to  himself. 

"Dear  boy,"  grandmother  put  a  tiny  hand  on 
each  side  of  his  face  and  looked  straight  into  his 
eyes,  standing  on  tip-toe.  "You're  just  like  you  used 
to  be." 

"And  so  are  you,  Granny,"  David  caught  the  little 
old  lady  up  in  his  arms  and  gave  her  a  vigorous  hug. 

He  had  not  imagined  that  he  would  be  so  glad  to 
see  grandmother.  It  gave  him  a  "homey"  feeling 
that  he  never  experienced  when  he  went  back  to  the 
splendid  palace  that  his  father  and  a  housekeeper  and. 


68  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

a  troop  of  servants  occupied  —  he  could  not  say  that 
they  lived  there. 

"Oh,  you  big  bear,  let  me  down.  It  isn't  digni- 
fied." 

Grandmother  laughed  like  a  girl  and  straightened 
the  pretty  Mechlin  lace  cap  with  pink  ribbons  that  she 
wore  to  hide  the  tiny  bald  spot  that  was  coming  on 
her  head. 

"Isn't  she  a  dear?"  Eleanor  whispered  to  Hugh. 

"You  bet,"  he  answered,  with  conviction. 

"I'm  glad  I  came,"  said  Mr.  Guille,  "and  I'd  like 
to  paint  this  room  and  grandmother  in  it,  just  as  it  is 
tonight.  Van  Dyke  could  not  have  found  a  better 
subject  in  old  Flanders.  I  wonder  if  she'd  let  me." 

Unknown  to  grandmother,  who  innocently  thought 
that  Mr.  Guille  was  noting  down  some  thoughts,  the 
artist  sketched  the  room  rapidly ;  the  wide  black 
rafters,  the  tiled  fire-place,  tiles  brought  from  "furrin' 
parts"  by  one  who  had  been  a  sea  rover,  the  shining 
pewter  on  the  mantlepiece,  rag  carpets  in  dull  tints ; 
claw-footed  mahogany  furniture.  Even  the  lights 
were  artistic,  though  grandmother  did  not  know  it,  for 
she  would  have  candles  instead  of  lamps. 

The  mellow  light  fell  on  the  dear  old  lady  with 
her  smooth,  peach-bloom  face,  on  her  black  silk  gown 
with  fine  lace  collar  and  cuffs,  on  her  eyes,  full  of 
God's  peace,  and  on  her  small,  efficient  hands,  busy 
with  gray  socks  for  the  boys  "over  there." 

In  the  morning  the  landscape  was  white  and  the 
big  sleigh  was  brought  out  by  Josiah,  with  two  power- 
ful Flemish  working  horses  fastened  to  it.  Into  it 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  69 

they  all  piled,  even  grandmother,  who  was  all  bundled 
up  and  wasn't  going  to  lose  a  moment  of  the  fun. 

For  miles  and  miles  they  went,  Josiah  driving,  a 
picturesque  figure  in  fur  cap  and  heavy,  worn  great- 
coat. The  sun  shone  and  the  air  was  frosty,  the  bells 
jingled  merrily  and  everyone  they  met  called  out 
"Good-morning"  as  if  they  were  old  friends. 

At  last  they  drew  up  at  the  white  church  with 
green  shutters  where  Washington  worshiped  once, 
long  ago,  and  while  Josiah  put  the  horses  and  sleigh  in 
the  low  red  sheds  Eleanor  unwound  grandmother 
from  her  many  wraps. 

It  took  two  pews  to  hold  the  party,  highbacked 
pews  they  were,  and  one  of  them  bore  a  silver  plate 
with  David's  great-grandfather's  name  on  it.  His 
name  had  been  David  too.  That's  why  the  baby  boy 
had  received  it,  because  it  was  an  old,  old  name  in  the 
family.  David  Prentice  Ketron,  he  was,  and  Prentice 
was  grandmother's  name  and  his  own  mother's. 

David  felt  a  bit  strange  in  church.  He  had  heard 
many  profound  lectures  and  some  dissertations  on  the 
decay  of  Christianity,  but  he  had  not  heard  the  Gospel 
preached  in  a  Christian  church  for  a  long  time. 

It  was  an  old-fashioned  sermon,  preached  by  an 
old  man  who  looked  like  a  patriarch,  and  it  recounted 
our  mercies  and  privileges  as  a  people  who  were  free 
and  served  God. 

Afterward,  the  preacher  and  his  daughter,  who 
brought  her  knitting,  came  to  dinner  and  the  preacher 
asked  the  blessing  and  prayed  especially  for  these  dear 
young  men,  that  they  might  be  led  in  the  paths  of 


7o  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

righteousness;  especially  for  David,  that  he  might  not 
forget  that  he  was  an  heir  to  a  great  inheritance,  not 
the  treasures  of  this  world,  that  moth  and  rust  would 
destroy  and  thieves  could  break  through  and  steal,  but 
to  an  inheritance  pure  and  undefiled,  to  a  crown  that 
fadeth  not  away,  heir  to  the  faith  of  his  fathers, 
who  had  passed  into  glory  from  Hillside  and  whose 
bodies  awaited  the  resurrection  in  the  quiet  church- 
yard. 

David  felt  queer  when  he  was  being  prayed  for. 
He  was  having  many  new  experiences  and  rather  en- 
joyed that,  but  he  was  not  sure  about  this  praying 
business.  It  was  too  pointed  and  personal.  It  im- 
plied that  he  had  wandered  from  the  path  of  right- 
eousness and  had  forgotten  the  faith  of  his  fathers. 
The  worst  thing  about  it  was  that  the  old  preacher 
had  struck  the  nail  on  the  head.  It  was  all  true  and 
David  knew  it. 

What  would  Algie  and  Tom  Parsons  and  the 
other  Jolly  Good  Fellows  have  said  if  they  had  known 
that  David  Ketron,  gayest  of  the  lot,  had  been  "prayed 
at."  He  thanked  his  stars  that  they  never  would 
know  it.  They  would  howl  and  he'd  never  hear  the 
last  of  it. 

David  dismissed  his  thoughts  and  devoted  him- 
self to  the  abundant  dinner  that  Mandy,  Josiah's  wife, 
had  cooked.  Guy  Guille  carved  the  turkey  and  David 
undertook  to  perform  the  same  duty  by  a  big,  fat 
goose.  There  was  much  hilarity  and  grandmother's 
face  was  shining  with  happiness.  At  last,  she  had 
her  boy  home  again,  after  so  long  a  time. 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  71 

"Going  over  to  see  the  old  place,  Eleanor?"  Mrs. 
Prentice  asked,  in  the  pause  between  turkey  and  pie. 

"I'd  like  to,  grandmother." 

"Your  father  don't  come  up  any  more,  just  the 
same  as  Jared.  Both  of  them  have  forsaken  Hillside. 
I  remember  them  when  they  were  boys,  fine  little  fel- 
lows, running  in  here  for  cookies,  'cause  they  hadn't 
any  mother.  Kind  of  adopted  me." 

"Just  as  I  have,  grandmother/' 

"Ain't  they  never  made  up  that  silly  meadow  lot 
business?  Such  a  foolish  thing  to  quarrel  over." 

"Never,  grandmother,  but  I'm  hoping  that  they 
will." 

"Oughtn't  to  go  down  to  the  end  of  life  with  a 
grudge.  It  ain't  worth  while,  nor  pleasant  to  think 
about  when  you  get  to  the  last  years  where  I  be.  I'm 
glad  you  and  Davie  are  good  friends,  as  cousins  ought 
to  be,  but  I  think  Jared's  grown  stubborn  because  he's 
got  too  much  money.  Money's  a  good  thing  to  have 
a  little  of,  but  too  much  makes  a  man  hard." 

Grandmother  had  ideas  of  her  own.  David  was 
not  much  pleased  to  have  the  family  ghosts  and  weak- 
nesses aired  before  Guy  Guille  and  Hugh. 

"I'm  helping  to  relieve  father  of  his  money,"  he 
said,  and  everybody  laughed. 

Mandy  brought  in  the  pumpkin  pies  and  nuts  and 
raisins  and  cheese  which  put  an  end  of  this  line  of 
thoughts,  to  David's  relief  and  Eleanor's  also. 

Before  dark,  the  two  cousins  went  over  to  the 
old  Ketron  homestead  half  a  mile  awav.  It  was 


72  THAT  KETKON  STREAK 

closed  and  cheerless.  No  one  occupied  it  and  it  was 
falling  into  ruin. 

"When  I'm  twenty-one,  Eleanor,  I'm  going  to  ask 
father  to  give  me  the  old  place.  It  could  be  made  very 
comfortable  if  some  money  was  spent  on  it  and  the 
view  is  splendid." 

"It  is  a  shame  to  have  it  go  to  ruin,  Da  vie." 

"Yonder  lies  the  meadow  lot  that's  made  so  much 
hard  feeling  between  my  father  and  yours.  Looks 
innocent  enough,  doesn't  it?" 

"Maybe  if  you  were  to  open  the  house  and  live 
in  it,  Davie  — ' 

"Yes,  I've  thought  the  same.  You  and  I  could 
fix  it  up  together  and  maybe,  someday  — 

"We  could  get  them  both  under  the  roof,  in  the 
old  home,  where  they  used  to  be  when  they  were 
boys—" 

"And  we'd  have  grandmother  there !  They 
wouldn't  dare  refuse  to  make  up,  if  she  was  there  and 
put  a  hand  on  each  one's  shoulder,  because  she  was 
the  only  mother  they  ever  knew." 

"Let's  try  it,  Davie." 

"We  sure  will,  Eleanor.  I'll  see  if  I  can  get  pos- 
session soon.  Father  will  do  what  I  want,  and  in  the 
spring,  when  the  snows  melt,  we'll  have  workmen 
here.  Perhaps  by  Easter,  it  will  be  in  order  and 
then—" 

"Oh,  Davie,  you're  a  good  schemer." 

"We'll  try  it  anyway,  dear." 

"We  sure  will,"  answered  Eleanor,  enthusias- 
tically. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

A   Package  of  Vouchers 

> 

HAVE  the  dear  old  farm  house,  boy  ?  Of  course, 
you  may  have  it  and  welcome.  I'm  having 
the  deed  made  out  to  you  at  once.  For  years 
I  haven't  seen  the  place,  not  since  your  mother  died. 
Didn't  care  to  go  for  one  reason  or  another,  perhaps 
I've  been  too  busy  making  money.  Or  maybe  I'm  not 
of  the  sentimental  kind,"  so  wrote  Jared  Ketron. 
seated  at  his  desk  in  the  library  of  Sunny  Bank,  his 
estate  on  the  Hudson,  just  in  the  foot-hills  of  the  Cat- 
skill  mountains. 

It  was  one  of  those  dream  places  on  which  rich 
men  love  to  spend  their  money.  Jared  Ketron  did  not 
spend  much  time  here,  he  came  and  went  as  he  liked, 
leaving  a  retinue  of  servants  to  keep  the  large  grounds 
and  immense  house  in  order. 

Lifting  his  eyes  now,  he  gazed  through  a  wide, 
one-paned  window  upon  a  sloping  lawn,  a  small  lake 
and  a  bit  of  wild  forest  land.  But  he  was  seeing 
something  else ;  a  farm  house  with  fields  of  grain 
around  it,  a  big  kitchen,  where  he  and  Aleck  ate  buck- 
wheat cakes  and  molasses.  Yes,  he  and  Aleck,  and 
there  was  Mother  Prentice.  Had  she  grown  old  ?  He 
had  neglected  his  wife's  mother,  while  not  forgetting 
to  send  her  a  generous  check  in  January  and  July. 

"I'm  glad  the  boy  went  up  there,  with  Eleanor. 
She's  a  splendid  girl.  In  some  way  we  must  make  her 

(73) 


74  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

life  easier,  but  she  won't  accept  a  penny  thus  far. 
Proud  as  her  father.  Some  day,  when  I'm  not  so 
busy,  I'll  run  up  to  Hillside  and  eat  some  of  those 
cookies  Mother  Prentice  used  to  make.  Good,  they 
were  —  and  Aleck  — " 

After  a  moment,  he  picked  up  his  pen. 

"It's  a  good  idea  that  of  fixing  up  the  place  and 
making  it  liveable.  Spend  what  you  like  and  send  the 
bills  to  me.  I'll  pay  them.  Share  the  plans  with 
Eleanor,  it  was  her  grandfather's  as  well  as  yours. 
Put  in  bath-rooms  and  whatever  you  and  she  agree 
upon,  but  don't  disturb  that  little  room  in  the  second 
floor  where  I  used  to  sleep." 

David  got  the  letter  just  before  the  Christmas 
vacation  began.  He  phoned  to  Eleanor. 

"The  roads  are  good.  Let's  go  up  to  Hillside  for 
a  couple  of  days.  Dad's  given  me  the  place  and  will 
pay  for  all  changes  and  he  wants  you  to  feel  that  you 
have  a  share  in  the  fun." 

Eleanor  pocketed  her  pride  and  resentment 
against  Uncle  Jared  for  the  way  he  h.ad  treated  he/ 
father  all  these  years. 

"All  right,  Davie,  I'll  go.  But  I  must  be  home 
for  Christmas  Eve." 

"I'm  not  going  home  this  vacation.  Father's  off 
for  a  trip  to  California  and  I'm  to  be  in  New  York 
with  Guy  Guille,  he's  asked  me  to  stay  at  the  studio." 

"That's  fine.     Shall  we  go  tomorrow,  Davie?" 

"If  it  doesn't  snow." 

It  was  fun  planning  to  make  the  old,  half-ruined, 
deserted  farm  house  whole  again,  putting  in  modern 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  75 

improvements,  avoiding  any  radical  changes  that 
would  spoil  the  genuineness  of  the  building  or  take 
from  it  its  characteristics. 

Eleanor  entered  heartily  into  everything. 

"It  is  pleasant  to  do  just  what  you  like  and  send 
the  bills  to  someone  else.  It's  a  new  experience  for 
me,"  she  said,  laughing,  as  the  two  contemplated  the 
best  parlor  with  its  stained  paper,  small  windows, 
haircloth  covered  furniture  and  queer  old  pictures. 

David  looked  at  her  with  more  seriousness  in  his 
expression  than  she  had  ever  seen. 

"Yes,  it's  very  comfortable.  Makes  a  fellow  feel 
as  if  he  were  lying  on  nice,  soft  feathers  so  that  he 
won't  know  that  there  are  any  bumps  underneath. 
But  I  wonder  whether  this  method  of  treatment  is 
going  to  make  a  man  of  me." 

"Oh,  Davie,  Davie !"  Eleanor  laid  her  hand  on 
her  cousin's  arm,  "thank  God !  you  are  beginning  to 
see  clearly.  Uncle  Jared's  money  can  do  you  no 
good  unless  you  know  how  to  use  it." 

"Sometimes  I've  wished  that  we  hadn't  any 
money  at  all." 

"It's  hard  to  be  poor,  Davie.  Ask  Hugh  Hinson. 
Why  do  you  look  that  way?  Aren't  you  and  Hugh 
good  friends  any  more?" 

"There  are  lots  of  things  girls  can't  understand," 
David  answered  evasively,  with  his  old,  irritating  su- 
perior manner.  "Now,  let's  get  down  to  business. 
What  shall  we  do  to  this  room?" 

"Throw  down  the  partition  between  this  one  and 
the  next,  leave  two  fire-places,  they  are  plain  and 


76  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

handsome,  cut  some  more  windows,  small  like  these, 
and  range  them  Swiss  fashion  on  the  side  where  the 
view  is.  You  can  put  five  in  a  row,"  Eleanor  promptly 
replied. 

On  the  way  back  in  the  car,  David  was  silent  and 
moody.  He  drove  so  fast  through  the  towns  that 
Eleanor  suggested  the  possibility  of  arrest  for  speed- 
ing. 

"I  don't  care  if  they  do  arrest  me,"  answered 
Jared  -Ketron's  son  in  exactly  the  same  tone  which 
the  older  man  used  when  some  one  warned  him  about 
a  risky  business  venture. 

Eleanor  held  her  peace  but  did  some  thinking. 

"It's  something  about  Hugh,"  she  decided. 

Because  she  loved  Davie  and  believed  that  Hugh 
Hinson  was  gold  through  and  through,  a  devoted 
earnest  Christian  and  hard  worker,  a  much  safer 
friend  for  her  impulsive,  high  blooded,  reckless  cousin, 
than  was  Tom  Parsons,  she  went  to  the  phone  and 
called  Hugh  up. 

"Can't  you  come  over  and  see  me  tonight?" 
she  asked. 

Hugh's  hand  that  held  the  receiver  trembled  just 
a  little.  Eleanor  Ketron  had  never  before  honored 
him  with  an  invitation  to  Salem  House.  She  was  the 
nicest  girl  he  knew,  although  reserved  in  manner  and 
somewhat  unapproachable. 

"Surely  I'll  come.     Will  be  there  at  eight." 

In  his  small  room,  Hugh  put  on  his  best  blue 
serge  suit  —  at  night  it  would  not  show  the  worn 
places.  He  did  not  know  that  with  his  height  and 


THAT  KETKON  STREAK  77 

well-built  frame,  with  his  strong  features  and  fine 
eyes,  he  was  as  presentable  in  old  blue  serge  as  he 
would  have  been  in  evening  dress.  Hugh  owned  a 
dress  suit,  for  he  belonged  to  the  Glee  Club,  he  had 
bought  it  from  an  English  fellow  who  was  a  waiter 
and  the  sleeves  were  a  bit  too  short ;  it  didn't  show. 

"Have  you  quarreled  with  Davie?''  Eleanor 
asked  him  straight  out.  She  never  beat  about  the 
bush. 

Hugh's  face  grew  pale. 

"No,  I  haven't  quarreled  with  Davie,  but  he  has 
something  against  me.  I  don't  know  what  it  is." 

"Why  don't  you  ask  him  and  find  out  what's  the 
matter?  Hugh,  you're  the  best  friend  he  has.  Don't 
leave  him  to  the  cold  mercies  of  that  Tom  Parsons ;  I 
don't  trust  him  one  bit.  Algernon  Van  der  Voort  is 
all  right  as  far  as  his  brains  hold  out,  when  he  for- 
gets his  Dutch  ancestors,  but  he  can  not  help  Davie. 
Nor  can  any  of  that  gang  he  goes  with.  You  are  the 
only  one  he  really  respects." 

"Honestly,  Eleanor,  there's  something  up,  but  I 
can't  imagine  what  it  is.  I  believe  Tom  Parsons  is  at 
the  bottom  of  the  mischief  but  how,  I  don't  knowr. 
Nor  for  what  reason.  I  know  he  does  not  like  me." 

"Naturally,  you're  not  his  kind." 

This  was  high  praise  from  Eleanor  Ketron  who 
never  flattered  and  was  sometimes  too  frank  to  be 
agreeable.  Hugh  would  not  have  been  a  youth  bud- 
ding into  manhood,  decidedly  human,  if  he  had  ig- 
nored the  implied  compliment. 


78  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

"I'll  speak  to  him  tomorrow.  Besides,  1  must 
say  good-bye  to  you  and  to  him,  too." 

"Good-bye?  Oh,  for  Christmas  holidays,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"No,  for  longer  than  that.  I'm  going  West. 
Eleanor,  have  a  position  as  engineer.  Later,  I'll  come 
back  and  finish  my  college  course." 

"It's  because  he  hasn't  money  enough,"  thought 
Eleanor.  She  liked  a  man  who  had  the  courage  to 
work  rather  than  borrow. 

"So  it's  good-bye,  Eleanor,  for  a  while." 

He  looked  down  at  her  but  she  did  not  answer 
his  glance. 

"I  suppose  —  it  —  would  be  too  much  —  trouble, 
for  you  to  write  sometimes,"  he  stammered. 

Hugh  was  very  brave  about  going  to  work.  He 
was  not  one  bit  courageous  in  the  presence  of  this 
slender  girl  who  measured  five  feet  two. 

"Too  much  trouble?  Dear  me,  no.  I  shall  be 
glad  to  hear  how  you  are  getting  along." 

Hugh  went  to  his  room  with  his  Head  held  in 
military  fashion,  he  walked  as  a  man  should.  But 
this  was  not  because  he  was  to  be  a  member  of  an 
Army  Corps;  Oh,  dear  no.  It  was  because  Eleanor 
Ketron  had  promised  to  answer  every  letter  he  wrote. 

That  evening  he  packed.  It  didn't  take  long,  for 
he  did  not  own  much ;  some  clothes,  a  few  books,  fish- 
ing tackle  and  a  tennis  racket. 

Davie  was  in  his  room  when  Hugh  entered  next 
morning. 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  79 

"Hello,  Hugh,"  he  said,  but  his  tone  was  not  en- 
couraging. 

Hugh  did  not  sit  down  but  leaned  against  the  desk 
where  he  could  face  David,  seated. 

"I  came  to  say  good-bye  and  wish  you  Merry 
Christmas  and  many  happy  times.  I'm  off  for  home 
and  soon  I'll  be  on  my  way  to  Arizona.  Got  a  job 
laying  out  a  railroad.  It's  a  good  chance." 

"I  heard  about  it  from  Tom  Parsons,"  David 
answered,  sullenly. 

It  was  not  like  him  to  be  so  rude  and  Hugh 
winced. 

"Old  chap,"  he  said,  warmly,  bending  over  the 
desk  to  look  straight  at  David,  "don't  let's  part  this 
way.  We've  been  such  good  friends,  Davie.  Lately, 
for  the  past  month,  you've  acted  strangely  to  me.  I 
can't  understand  it.  Tell  me  what  your  grouch  is, 
and  let's  talk  it  out." 

"I'd  rather  not,  Hugh.  You  know  what  the 
trouble  is,  there's  no  use  pretending  you  don't.  I 
never  would  have  believed  it  of  you.  If  you  ever 
thought  that  I  might  become  a  real  Christian,  you  were 
mistaken.  I've  seen  enough  of  your  Christianity  to 
settle  that.  Prayers  and  hymn-singing  and  church 
going,  Oh,  yes,  you  are  a  shining  model,  but^  thank 
Heaven,  I'm  not  a  hypocrite." 

Hugh  felt  as  if  he  were  turning  to  stone.  This 
from  David  Ketron.  his  friend.  It  was  incredible. 

However,  Hugh  was  no  coward,  he  was  ready 
to  face  the  music  and  he  could  not  hear  his  Chris- 


8o  THAT  KKTKON  STREAK 

tianity  impugned  or  submit  to  be  called  a  hypocrite 
without  protesting. 

He  sat  down,  quietly. 

"Now  tell  me  what  this  is  all  about,"  he  de- 
manded, "show  your  evidence  that  I  have  deceived 
you,  that  I've  pretended  to  be  what  I  am  not.  A 
prisoner  at  the  bar  is  permitted  to  defend  himself." 

"Well,  if  you  insist,  look  at  this!" 

David  drew  from  his  desk  a  package  of  cancelled 
checks,  took  one  from  among  the  vouchers  and  handed 
it  to  Hugh. 

"You  can't  deny  your  own  signature,  I  suppose," 
he  sneered. 

David  was  in  a  very  bad  humor.  Hugh  had  been 
the  one  man  outside  of  Guy  Guille  whom  he  trusted, 
in  whose  religious  sincerity  he  firmly  believed.  It  had 
been  a  struggle  for  him  to  give  up  this  belief.  In  so 
doing,  he  had  persuaded  himself  that  all  Christians 
were  hypocrites,  except  Guy  Guille  —  that  all  religion 
was  a  farce,  that  true  faith  in  God  and  His  Son  Jesus 
Christ,  was  a  myth  and  that  he  himself,  was  justified 
in  doing  just  exactly  what  he  pleased,  whether  right 
or  wrong. 

David  Ketron  did  not  realize  that  in  taking  this 
attitude,  he  was  merely  reflecting  the  views  of  Tom 
Parsons,  who  had  been  instilling  poison  into  his  mind 
for  three  years  and  had  succeeded  only  too  well. 

Hugh  stared  at  the  check  as  if  he  saw  a  ghost. 
He  felt  cold  all  over,  as  if  he  had  a  chill. 

The  check  was  drawn  to  the  order  of  bearer;  it 


THAT  KETRON   STREAK  81 

was  for  five  hundred  dollars  and  on  the  back  \v;is 
endorsed  by  "Hugh  Hinson." 

"You  may  remember  that  when  you  cashed  that 
check,  the  cashier,  from  motives  of  precaution,  asked 
your  address  and  wrote  it  down.  I  made  inquiries 
and  saw  the  address  on  his  books,  55  Buchanan  Street. 
That's  correct,  isn't  it?" 

The  voice  was  that  of  Jared  Ketron,  when  con- 
ducting a  business  deal,  hard  and  cold;  the  face  of 
the  lad  behind  the  desk  was  like  Jared's  keen  and 
merciless,  very,  very  unlike  the  happy-go-lucky  David 
whom  Hugh  had  loved. 

"You  cashed  a  check  for  five  hundred  dollars  on 
November  3Oth,  didn't  you,  at  the  Provident  Trust 
Company's  Bank?" 

"You  were  seen  by  — 

"Tom  Parsons.  I  remember  that  he  came  in  be- 
hind me  and  asked  me  if  I  had  come  into  a  fortune. 
So  it  was  Tom  — ' 

"No,  it  was  the  voucher,"  interrupted  David,  "I 
never  would  have  believed  it,  even  if  Tom  had  sworn 
to  it,  if  I  had  not  received  the  voucher." 

"Have  you  shown  it  to  Tom?" 

"No,  I  haven't  shown  it  to  anyone  and  don't  in- 
tend to.  Oh.  Hugh,  Hugh,  I  trusted  you  so !  If  you 
had  told  me  that  you  needed  money,  I  would  gladly 
have  given  it  to  you." 

"But  you  cannot  trust  my  word  when  I  say  that 
I  never  endorsed  that  check,  that  it  is  a  forgery." 

"It's  your  exact  signature.  I  compared  it,  and 
vou  drew  out  five  hundred  dollars." 


82  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

"For  my  mother.  A  small  legacy  she  asked  me 
to  draw  for  her  and  deposit  in  the  First  National 
Bank.  Go  and  find  out.  It  isn't  fair  to  me  to  leave  it 
this  way.  And  I  have  no  time  to  do  anything.  I  must 
take  the  noon  train.  Got  word  this  morning  that  I 
must  report  at  the  New  York  office  at  six  o'clock. 
We  leave  for  the  West  tomorrow.  I  can't  even  go 
home  to  see  mother  and  Agnes.  David,  you're  un- 
just." 

Hugh  looked  at  his  watch. 

"As  God  is  my  witness,  David  Ketron,  I  never 
wrote  that  signature  or  took  a  penny  of  your  money. 
Good-bye." 

David  sat  staring  at  the  check.  Could  he  have 
made  a  blunder?  Who  would  dare  to  sign  Hugh's 
name? 

He  thrust  the  bundle  of  checks  into  the  drawer, 
for  some  one  had  his  hand  on  the  knob. 

"Come  in,"  he  called. 

It  was  Tom  Parsons. 

"So  I  hear  that  our  paragon  is  off  for  the  war," 
he  said  jubilantly.  "Did  he  pay  back  the  five  hundred' 
dollars?" 

"Call  it  off,"  answered  David,  gruffly.  "I'm  go- 
ing to  the  gym.  Want  to  come?  That  matter  is 
settled  with  Hinson  and  I  never  want  to  hear  it  men- 
tioned again." 

"Mum's  the  word,"  was  Tom's  response. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 
Guy  Guille's  Studio 

GUY    GUILLE'S   studio   in    New   York    was   a 
dream  of  beauty,  so  it  seemed  to  David  Ket- 
ron,  when  he  deposited  himself  and  his  suit- 
case in  it  on  the  day  before  Christmas,  1916. 

"Glad  to  see  you,"  said  his  host,  coming  to  greet 
him,  palette  in  hand,  black  velvet  cap  pushed  well  back 
on  his  black  hair,  cordiality  shining  from  his  eyes. 
"Your  room  is  over  there.  I  keep  bachelor's  hall, 
you  know,  go  out  to  get  my  meals  and  a  woman  comes 
in  to  clean  up,  as  much  as  I'll  let  her." 

Two  doors  opened  from  the  immense  studio  into 
two  bedrooms,  connected  with  each  other  by  a  large 
bathroom.  Everything  was  very  simple  here,  but  im- 
maculately clean.  White  beds,  plain  bureaus,  straight 
chairs,  an  outlook  upon  an  open  square  where  there 
were  trees,  now  white  with  snow,  and  squirrels,  sitting 
up  on  their  haunches  and  saucily  twitching  their  tails 
as  a  greeting  to  David. 

s  Guille's  quarters  were  well  up-town,  where  there 
\vas  room  to  spread  out  and  nature  had  a  chance  to 
exist.  In  the  building 'there  were  many  artists  and 
many  studios.  It  faced  the  river  but  David  could  not 
see  from  the  bedroom  the  big,  gray  ships  of  war 
lying  at  anchor,  awaiting  the  order  to  depart  for  the 
war  zone. 

He  unpacked  his  suit-case,  washed  off  the  dust 
of  travel,  brushed  his  hair  and  looked  around, 

(83) 


84  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

Not  a  picture  was  there  on  the  wall,  not  a  knick- 
knack  or  embroidered  piece  of  linen.  It  was  a  man's 
room,  essentially. 

Over  the  bed,  hung  a  large  illuminated  parch- 
ment, made  by  a  skilled  hand.  David  read  it : 

"Trust  in  the  Lord  and  do  good;  so  shalt  thou 
dwell  in  the  land,  and  verily  thou  shalt  be  fed.  Delight 
thyself  in  the  Lord;  and  he  shall  give  thee  the  desires 
of  thine  heart. 

"Commit  thy  way  unto  the  Lord;  trust  also  in 
him,  and  he  shall  bring  it  to  pass. 

"Rest  in  the  Lord  and  wait  patiently  for  Him. 

"The  steps  of  a  good  man  are  ordered  by  the 
Lord  *  *  *  though  he  shall  fall,  yet  shall  he  not 
be  utterly  cast  down ;  for  the  Lord  upholdeth  him 
with  his  hand. 

"I  have  been  young  and  now  am  old ;  yet  have 
I  not  seen  the  righteous  forsaken,  nor  his  seed  beg- 
ging bread." 

Had  this  been  other  than  Guy  Guille's  home, 
David  would  have  turned  away  from  these  words 
with  a  shrug  of  his  square  shoulders.  But  he  was 
flattered  at  the  invitation  to  pass  the  holidays  with  so 
distinguished  an  artist.  Famous  men  are  permitted 
some  eccentricities  and  Guy's  ran  to  religion.  David 
could  not  ignore  this  while  he  accepted  hospitality."  . 

"This  room  looks  like  grandmother's,"  he  thought. 
"She's  this  kind,  so  is  Eleanor.  I  thought  Hugh  was, 
but  I  was  wrong." 

David  sighed.  It  had  been  hard  to  give  up 
Hugh's  friendship,  harder  to  give  up  his  ideal  of 
Hugh,  but  Davie,  being  a  chip  of  the  old  block  and 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  85 

unregenerate,  was  hard  as  flint  and  stubborn  as  a  mule 
when  he  made  up  his  mind.  Besides,  people  are  al- 
ways more  severe  on  those  whom  they  have  loved 
and  are  disappointed  in. 

He  firmly  believed  that  Hugh  Hinson  was  false, 
that  he  had  proved  himself  dishonest  and  a  hypocrite. 
So  firmly  was  his  idea  fixed  in  his  mind  that  he  would 
not  even  go  to  the  First  National  Bank  to  see  whether 
Hugh  had  deposited  five  hundred  dollars  to  his 
mother's  credit  —  it  was,  of  course,  David's  money  — 
nor  would  he  try  to  clear  him. 

If  it  were  true  that  Hugh  had  been  badly  treated 
by  some  one  who  wished  to  injure  him,  if  it  were  true 
that  it  was  another  check  that  he  cashed  that  day  Tom 
saw  him  and  not  the  one  signed  by  David  Ketron, 
then  that  would  prove  David  to  be  in  the  wrong.  Just 
now,  David  loved  himself  and  his  own  will  better  than 
anything  else,  and  it  would  be  humiliating  to  own  that 
he  was  unjust  and  had  made  a  mistake. 

Exactly  so  had  been  Jared  Ketron's  attitude  to- 
ward his  brother. 

Guy  had  laid  aside  his  palette,  covered  with 
splashes  of  carmine  and  ochre  and  green,  had  re- 
moved his  big,  stained  apron  and  the  black  velvet  cap 
which  he  called  his  "inspiration"  and  by  one  of  those 
strange  fancies  which  every  one  of  us  has  in  one  way 
or  another,  wore  invariably  when  he  painted. 

"Hungry  aren't  you,  David?  Suppose  we  go  out 
at  once  for  dinner.  It's  a  little  early,  but  I  have  an 
engagement  over  on  the  East  side  this  evening,  prom- 
ised to  talk  to  some  fellows  over  there.  Perhaps  you'd 


86  THAT  KETKON  STREAK 

rather  go  to  some  place  of  amusement.  If  so,  just 
suit  yourself." 

Herein  lay  Guy  Guille's  charm,  he  never  forced 
anyone  to  do  things,  not  even  to  become  Christians. 

''He  gently  leadeth  us,"  he  said  of  the  Lord,  "he 
beckons  but  he  does  not  push.  He  said  'And  I,  if 
I  be  lifted  up,  will  draw  all  men  unto  Me'." 

"I'd  like  to  go  with  you." 

"And  I'd  like  to  have  you.  Do  you  know,  I  keep 
that  bedroom  full  most  of  the  time.  Npt  with  swell 
fellows  like  you,  Oh,  dear  no.  For  the  last  week,  I've 
had  a  young  chap  there  who  came  to  New  York  and 
fell  among  thieves,  literally,  confidence  men.  He 
was  green  and  believed  they  would  help  him  to  suc- 
cess and  they  had  stripped  him  of  all  he  possessed 
when  I  met  him  walking  up  and  down  over  yonder 
by  the  river  and  brought  him  home.  It's  always 
seemed  to  me  that  home  was  meant  for  just  that,  a 
place  where  wanderers  could  find  shelter  and  comfort. 
It  has  as  big  a  meaning  as  'mother'  which  isn't  just 
the  woman  who  lives  in  your  house,  but  the  one  who 
loves  you  and  gathers  you  in  her  arms  and  comforts 
you.  God  meant  homes  and  mothers  to  be  symbols 
of  himself  and  his  love  and  the  home  he  has  prepared 
for  us  in  the  beautiful  mansions.  Here  we  are, 
David." 

Guille  entered  a  small  door  and  led  the  way 
through  a  room  crowded  with  men  sitting  at  pine 
tables,  through  a  long  corridor  and  out  into  a  square 
court. 

"Guess  you  never  ate  dinner  in  a  place  like  this, 
David." 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  87 

"Guess  I  never  did." 

"Got  the  best  cook  here  you'll  find  in  New  York. 
If  Mr.  Carnegie  knew  about  him,  he'd  offer  him  a 
larger  salary  than  the  President  of  Harvard  receives.' 
You'll  see." 

David  saw.  He  not  only  saw,  but  marvelled  and 
ate;  clear  soup,  well-cooked  chicken,  a  salad  such  as 
his  father's  chef  could  not  equal,  oranges  and  bananas 
and  coffee,  in  Turkish  fashion,  served  in  tiny  cups  set 
in  filagree  brass. 

A  glass  roof  was  supported  by  slender  columns, 
the  walls  were  hung  with  ivy,  strange  languages  were 
heard  on  every  side.  Guy  Guille  gave  his  orders  to  a 
dark-faced  waiter  in  a  tongue  unknown  to  David. 

"Armenians,"  explained  the  artist,  "refugees  who 
escaped  from  cruel  tyranny  and  brutal  persecutions  to ' 
live  in  peace  and  prosperity  in  little  old  New  York. 
You'll  find  about  everything  in  tliis  Island  if  you  look 
for  it,  David." 

"I'm  having  the  greatest  experience  of  my  life, 
Eleanor,"  wrote  David  a  week  later  from  Guille 's  in- 
laid desk  in  a  corner  of  the  studio. 

"If  you  could  only  see  this  place.  Pictures,  pic- 
tures everywhere ;  in  gilt  frames,  on  easels,  half- 
finished,  some  of  them.  Turn  any  canvas  of  the  many 
packed  carelessly  in  heaps  against  the  walls  and  you'll 
strike  a  treasure. 

"He's  a  great  man,  is  Guy  Guille,  and  has  been 
everywhere.     And  he's  a   good  man,  too,   note  that, " 
for  they  are  mighty   few.     The  first  evening  I   was 
here,  we  went  over  to  the  East  side ;  right  in  among 
the  foreigners.    You  would  have  thought  it  was  Rus- 


88  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

sia  or  Poland  or  Italy.  People  crowded  into  tene- 
ments—  three  families  in  a  room,  sweat  shops  where 
tired  women  worked  and  even  little  children. 

"Guy  talked  to  a  hundred  Russians  in  a  Settle- 
ment hall,  bearded,  heavy  faces,  but  such  eyes !  with 
a  world  of  suffering  and  misery  in  their  depths.  He 
can't  speak  Russian  well,  though  he  understands  some, 
and  what  he  said  was  translated.  I  never  heard  any- 
one explain  things  like  he  does,  Eleanor.  He  told 
these  men  that  Jesus  was  just  a  working  man,  like 
they  are  —  and  how  they  listened  ! 

"But  we  haven't  spent  all  our  time  in  the  slums 
by  any  means.  Guy  (he  asked  me  to  call  him  this 
and  I  think  it's  a  great  compliment)  knows  lots  of 
people.  Took  me  to  the  Artists'  Club,  a  splendid 
building,  where  I  met  a  lot  of  distinguished  men 
whose  names  you  would  know.  He  went  to  dinner 
with  Countess  Poloski,  who  is  over  here  speaking  for 
the  Poles. 

"We've  done  the  town,  and  next  week,  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it. 

"We  plan  to  be  in  the  old  farm  house  at  Easter, 
don't  we?  And  have  Uncle  Aleck  and  father  meet 
there.  I  wonder  if  we  can  work  it!  Wouldn't  it  be 
great  ? 

"I'd  forgotten  to  mention  that  we've  seen  a  good 
deal  of  Ines  this  week. 

"I'll  tell  you  more  next  week.  Give  my  love  to 
'Uncle  Aleck  and  think  up  some  way  to  work  our  little 
scheme  at  Easter.  I  believe  Grandmother  would  know 
how  to  do  it. 

"Your  affectionate  cousin,   David. 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  89 

"P.  S.  It  isn't  only  girls  who  add  postscripts,  is 
it?  Have  you  heard  from  Hugh  Hinson?" 

David  told  Guy  all  about  Hugh  the  last  night  be- 
fore he  left.  New  Year's  Day  had  made  him  think 
of  all  sorts  of  Good  Resolutions  spelled  with  big 
letters.  He  did  not  doubt  that  Hugh  had  used  a  check 
in  his  name,  Oh,  no !  he  could  not  give  up  his  opinion 
on  that  point,  while  he  argued,  feeling  very  virtuous 
and  almost  religious,  that  sinners  ought  to  be  par- 
doned. 

He  expounded  this  theory  to  the  artist,  who  was 
stretched  out  on  a  couch  covered  with  a  fine  rug 
brought  from  Persia  on  one  of  his  horseback  tours 
in  the  Orient.  Guy  liked  to  go  into  the  out-of-the-way 
corners. 

One  day,  he  saved  a  child's  life.  The  father  gave 
him  this  rug  made  by  his  ancestors  in  this  very  old 
mud-walled  house,  a  priceless  rug,  in  faintly-tinted 
jewel  colors. 

Guy  did  not  enthuse  on  the  theory.  He  said  that 
from  one  viewpoint  it  was  correct  of  course,  sinners 
ought  to  be  pardoned,  that  was  clear;  Christ  taught 
it  by  his  acts.  On  the  other  hand,  he  called  David's 
attention  to  the  fact  that  something  devolved  on  him. 
Up  to  the  time  that  he  found  the  veucher  and  heard 
from  Tom  Parsons  that  Hugh  had  drawn  five  -hundred 
dollars,  he  had  believed  in  Hugh's  integrity. 

"Then  why,"  said  Guy,  "do  you  not  investigate? 
Why  condemn  him  out  and  out?  Is  it  altogether  fair 
to  one  who  has  hitherto  been  honorable,  to  doubt  his 
word  and  accept  circumstantial  evidence?" 

"There  is  the  voucher.     Hugh's  name  is  on  it." 


90  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

"Are  you  sure  that  he  wrote  it?  He  declares  that 
he  did  not." 

"If  he  did  not,  who  did?"  queried  David. 

When  he  thought  it  over,  he  was  inclined  to  agree 
with  Guy  that  he  ought  to  investigate  the  matter. 
Then  the  family  stubbornness  came  upon  him.  Hugh 
must  have  written  the  signature  endorsing  the  check. 

Just  before  he  left  Guy's  studio,  he  wrote  a  letter 
to  Hugh  and  mailed  it  to  his  old  address  in  Buchanan 
Street,  the  only  one  he  knew  as  he  went  to  the  train. 
It  was  a  very  forgiving  letter,  a  very  magnanimous 
spirit  did  David  show.  He  was  willing  to  forget  the 
wrong  done  to  him.  Anyway,  he  was  willing  to  call 
Hugh  his  friend  again,  if  he  would  say  he  was  sorry, 
and  he'd  tear  up  the  voucher. 

It  was  exactly  the  kind  of  epistle  that  some  mil- 
lionaire's son  could  write.  But  it  did  not  sound  one 
bit  like  Dave  Ketron,  the  real  David,  divested  of  his 
father's  money,  a  generous-hearted  boy,  with  little 
of  the  snob  about  him,  the  David  whom  Hugh  had 
known  and  loved. 

He  added  just  a  word  more.  "I  can't  forget  my 
debt  to  you.  Five  hundred  dollars  isn't  enough  to 
cover  it." 

On  the  whole,  it  was  a  despicable  letter,  the  kind 
that  ought  to  be  torn  up  at  once.  David  realized  this 
as  soon  as  he  had  dropped  it  into  the  post  box  from 
which  no  letter  ever  could  be  fished  out. 

"I'm  no  better  than  a  cad,"  he  thought.  "No 
gentleman  would  have  written  such  things.  I'm  glad 
I  didn't  show  it  to  Guv.  He  would  not  have  liked  it." 


CHAPTER  NINE 
David   Comes   of   Age 

HAVE  you  heard  from  Hugh,  Eleanor?" 
"Why  should  I  hear  from  Mr.  Hinson?" 
Eleanor   drew   herself   up   proudly.      To 
tell  the  truth,  she  had  been  very  eager  to  get 
news   from  the  young  man,  had   watched   the   mails 
daily. 

"No,  I've  heard  nothing.  You  are  the  one  he 
would  write  to  first,  anyway." 

"I  fancy  not." 

David's  tone  was  peculiar;  it  denoted  trouble. 

''Why,  what's  the  matter  between  you  and  Hugh  ? 
You've  been  like  David  and  Jonathan." 

"You  wouldn't  understand  if  I  told  you.  It  isn't 
a  matter  for  girls,"  he  said  with  masculine  majesty. 

"Oh!" 

"But  if  you  should  hear,  let  me  know,  will  you?" 

"Yes.  Now  tell  me  about  the  old  house.  I'm 
awfully  interested.  And  I've  thought  of  a  plan. 
Grandmother  Prentice  urged  me  to  bring  father  up 
there  for  a  change.  The  air  of  those  hills  is  very 
bracing  and  of  course,  it's  father's  native  air.  The 
doctor  said  it  would  do  him  a  world  of  good  and  he 
seemed  pleased  when  I  told  him  what  grandmother 
said.  The  beginning  of  April  will  be  just  the  time  for 
him  to  go  and  it's  vacation  for  me." 

"You  could  get  him  there  a  few  days  before 
Easter,"  David  suggested,  enthusiastically.  "Don't  tell 
him  a  thing  about  the  changes  in  the  old  homestead." 

"I  won't." 

"Then  on  Easter  morning,  you  and  grandmother 

—  naturally,  she'd  be  in  the  secret  —  take  a  walk  with 

Uncle  Aleck  over  to  the  farm,  and  father  and  I  will 

(91) 


92  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

be  there,  with  a  good  dinner  ready  and  a  bright  fire 
burning.  There's  nothing  like  eats,  Eleanor,  to  bring 
people  around  to  seeing  things  straight.  Eating  salt 
together  was  the  way  of  Arabians  of  cementing  friend- 
ship and  good  will.  I  believe  it  will  work." 

"I  believe  it  will,  too,  Davie." 

January  and  February  passed,  with  heavy  snow 
and  much  sleet.  David  went  back  and  forth  to  Hill- 
side and  as  the  work  was  chiefly  to  be  done  on  the  in- 
terior of  the  building,  the  painting  outside  could  be 
left  till  the  last.  Workmen  were  busy  transforming 
the  rough  old  farmhouse  into  a  place  of  modern 
comfort,  without  altering  the  original  form  or  detract- 
ing from  its  original  simplicity  or  character. 

Tom  Parsons  was  now  David's  most  intimate 
friend.  His  pleasant  mouth  was  assuming  a  cynical 
twist  like  Tom's,  and  he  became  noted  for  his  sharp, 
and  sometimes  unkind  witticisms  at  the  expense  of 
others. 

"In  April  I'll  be  twenty-one,"  David  said  to  Tom, 
as  they  strolled  one  day  under  the  elms  to  the  Davis 
Quadrangle. 

"In  April?" 

"Yes." 

"It's  a  big  thing  for  a  millionaire's  son  to  come 
of  age.  I  was  twenty-one  last  year,  but  nobody  made 
it  a  marked  day." 

David  walked  more  in  dignified  fashion.  A  bit 
inclined  to  boasting,  and  this  was  not  to  be  wondered 
at  considering  his  up-bringing,  he  could  not  resist  the 
temptation. 

"Of  course,  it  is  different  in  my  case.  My  father 
gives  me  an  interest  in  the  business  then." 

"Money's  the  biggest  thing  in  the  world.  If  you'd 
been  poor,  you'd  understand  what  I  mean.  You'd 
prize  money  above  anything  if  you  were  like  me." 

David's  thoughts  flew  to  Hugh  Hinson. 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  93 

"Above  character  or  morality  and  even  religion," 
David  rejoined,  sarcastically. 

"I  didn't  say  that,"  muttered  Tom  Parsons. 
"Funny,  Hugh  Hinson  has  never  let  anybody  know 
whether  he's  dead  or  alive,"  went  on  Tom.  He  was 
keen  enough  to  know  when  he  had  come  to  the  limit 
with  his  patron.  "I  suppose,  after  the  mean  trick  he 
played,  he's  afraid  to  let  people  know  where  he  is,  for 
fear  he'll  get  nabbed." 

"You  let  Hugh  alone!"  David  exclaimed,  unex- 
pectedly, and  strode  off  toward  his  rooms  in  a  very 
bad  humor. 

This  affair  of  Hugh  lay  heavy  on  his  conscience. 
No  answer  to  his  letter  had  ever  come  and  Eleanor 
had  not  received  a  line.  She  tried  to  make  herself  be- 
lieve that  she  never  liked  Hugh  Hinson,  handsome, 
young  giant,  with  eyes  that  were  true  and  voice  that 
had  a  sincere  ring  to  it. 

Success  did  not  crown  her  efforts  however,  and 
the  more  she  tried  to  forget  Hugh  and  their  last  con- 
versation over  the  telephone,  the  more  she  thought 
about  him. 

Hugh  Hinson  had  disappeared  completely  out  of 
her  life  and  David's. 

March  blew  itself  out  and  April  first  dawned, 
sunny,  balmy,  sweet  with  odors  of  violets  and  narcis- 
sus which,  were  wafted  from  florists'  shops  in  the 
cities. 

"We'll  get  the  real  kind,  soon,  daddy,"  Eleanor 
said,  gleefully,  as  the  two  sped  through  the  rolling 
country  on  the  express  train. 

At  the  Junction,  they  took  a  dinky  little  car,  with 
only  half  a  dozen  passengers  in  it.  None  of  them 
recognized  in  the  feeble,  middle-aged  man  Aleck  Ket- 
ron,  who  had  climbed  the  tallest  trees  as  easily  as  a 
squirrel  and  swam  the  creek  four  times  running  in 
his  boyhood, 


94  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

Eleanor  had  not  met  with  any  difficulties  in  per- 
suading her  father  to  accept  grandmother's  invitation 
to  spend  the  month  of  April  with  her.  Quite  joyously, 
he  entered  into  the  plan,  never  telling  Eleanor  how 
often,  how  very  often  he  had  longed  for  escape  from 
the  crowded  city  where  he  seemed  to  be  shut  in  by 
prison  walls,  how  he  had  longed  for  a  breath  of  piney 
air  and  the  sweep  of  long,  low  hills,  bright  green,  and 
even  for  a  glimpse  of  grandmother's  face. 

She  was  waiting  at  the  door,  when  they  got  there, 
after  dusk  according  to  plan,  driving  from  the  station 
in  the  heavy  old  rockaway  by  a  circuitous  route,  to 
avoid  the  Ketron  homestead. 

"You're  welcome,  Aleck,"  said  grandmother. 
''Eleanor,  he's  tired  to  death.  Take  him  to  the  big 
room  and  let  him  rest.  You're  to  do  nothing  but 
sleep,  Aleck,  and  eat  and  drink  milk  for  the  next  few 
days.  Sunday  will  be  Easter,  and  we'll  all  go  and  sit 
in  the  old  pew,  to  rejoice  because  the  Lord  is  risen. 
I'll  send  supper  up  right  away.  Mandy's  baked  some 
of  the  biscuit  your  pa  used  to  like  and  there's  sponge 
cake.  An'  he'd  better  have  an  egg,  fresh,  Josiah  just 
brought  'em  in  an'  some  sauce  and  a  cup  o'  tea.  That'll 
be  enough  for  him  tonight." 

"I'll  get  so  fat  I  can't  walk,  Grandmother  Pren- 
tice, if  you  feed  me  up  like  that." 

"Well,  it'll  do  you  good  to  get  some  flesh  on  your 
bones.  You'd  do  for  the  skeleton  man  in  the  circus." 

"Eleanor,  Eleanor,  it's  good  to  get  home." 

Alexander  Ketron  lay  resting  on  the  four-poster, 
spread  with  a  hand-woven  blue  and  white  spread  that 
had  come  down  from  past  generations,  while  Eleanor 
placed  a  bountifully  laden  tray  on  the  table  beside 
him. 

"After  a  month  of  this,  you'll  be  able  to  go  back 
to  business,  dear  father," 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  95 

"I've  lost  my  job,  dear,  and  nobody  wants  a  worn- 
out,  middle-aged  man." 

"Then  I'll  take  care  of  you.  Don't  worry.  Just 
eat  and  sleep  and  play  that  you're  a  boy  at  home 
again." 

Her  father  looked  at  her  earnestly. 

"Who's  living  in  the  old  homestead,  Eleanor?" 

"I  think  it's  unoccupied.  When  I  was  here  with 
David  for  Thanksgiving,  no  one  was  living  in  it." 

"And  I  suppose  it  is  all  run  down." 

"It  was  then." 

"I'd  like  to  see  it.  Those  were  happy  days,  dear, 
when  Jared  and  I  — " 

"Eat  your  supper  now,  father,  and  don't  think 
about  things.  We'll  go  over  to  the  old  place  when  you 
are  strong  enough." 

It  rained  for  two  days,  ,and  Alexander  Ketron 
was  glad  to  stay  in  bed  and  have  Eleanor  and  grand- 
mother amuse  him  in  the  good,  old-fashioned  way 
which  women,  thank  God !  have  never  modernized, 
the  same  tender,  gentle  fashion  that  belongs  to  all 
ages. 

Easter  dawned,  cloudless. 

"There'll  be  a  big  attendance  today,"  grandmother 
said. 

The  three  were  sitting  at  the  round  breakfast 
table  of  dark  mahogany.  In  the  center  were  some 
early  crocuses  found  by  Eleanor  that  morning. 

"Put  plenty  of  cream  on  your  oatmeal,  Aleck. 
You  see  that  he  does,  Eleanor.  If  there  ain't  enough, 
Mandy'll  get  some  more.  Our  cow  gives  real  cream, 
not  the  kind  you  see  in  the  city." 

"Nobody  ever  sees  this  kind,  even  at  a  dollar  and 
a  half  a  quart,"  Aleck  said,  helping  himself  liberally. 
"Grandmother.  I'd  like  to  live  in  the  country  again. 
I  wonder  what  anybody  could  buy  the  old  place  for, 


96  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

or  whether  Jared  would  be  willing  to  sell  it.  1  sup- 
jx>se  not  —  to  me." 

"Oh,  mebbe  he  would  sell/'  the  old  lady  said. 

"I  can't  ask  him." 

"Well,  eat  your  breakfast  now.  It's  no  use  to 
rake  up  old  scores.  Eleanor,  we'll  drive  'round  by  the 
homestead  after  church,  if  your  father  wants  to  see 
it,  I've  got  a  key.  Jared  gave  it  to  me,  so's  I  could 
go  in  occasionally." 

"I'd  like  to  go." 

Josiah  was  waiting  at  the  close  of  the  service  with 
the  rockaway  and  the  strong  Norman  horses  that 
worked  all  the  week. 

"We'll  drive  over  to  the  Ketron  place,  Josiah," 
said  grandmother. 

David's  plan,  also,  had  worked  to  perfection, 
even  more  than  he  knew.  Jared  Ketron  had  entered 
with  unusual  enthusiasm  into  all  the  designs  which 
David  and  Eleanor  had  made  for  remodeling  the  home- 
stead. He  had  pored  over  the  drawings  which  had 
finally  been  made  by  a  well-known  New  York  archi- 
tect, recommended  by  Guy  Guille  with  much  more  in- 
terest than  he  had  felt  about  the  building  of  his  im- 
posing palace  on  the  Hudson. 

He  and  David  arrived  by  auto  on  Saturday  eve- 
ning, without  a  single  satellite.  Even  Marcellus,  Jared 
Ketron's  valet,  had  been  left  behind  and  the  rich  man 
would  have  to  prepare  his  own  clothes  with  his  own 
hands,  a  thing  that  he  had  not  dojie  for  years. 

"Here's  your  deed,  Davie,"  he  said  on  Easter 
morning.  "The  place  is  yours." 

"Thank  you,  dad.    To  do  what  I  like  with  ?" 

"Of  course.  It  belongs  to  you.  You  can  burn 
it  up  or  give  it  away  —  whatever  you  like.  Only  I 
should  prefer  to  have  it  stay  in  the  family." 

"Don't  you  worry.     Rut  remember,  I  hold  you  to 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  97 

what  you  said.     I'm  free  to  do  what  I  please  and  no 
observations  or  objections  made." 

"That's  the  ticket.  Twenty-one  today !  My !  your 
mother  would  have  liked  to  see  you,  big,  husky  fel- 
low." 

Sentiment  is  embarrassing,  especially  when  one  is 
twenty-one. 

David  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  his  father's 
shoulder.     The  "old  man''-— a  term  of  endearment  — 
was  getting  pretty  gray,  and  his  eyes  looked  tired. 

"Like  the  way  we've  fixed  things  here?"  he  asked. 

"Everything's  fine.  I  see  you  left  the  old  room 
just  as  it  was,  the  one  —  we  used  to  sleep  in." 

"Yes." 

Jared  Ketron,  the  successful  financier,  went  to  the 
row  of  five  small-paned  windows  set  close  side  by  side, 
Swiss  fashion,  and  stared  out  at  the  farmland  and 
forests.  Over  yonder  was  the  meadow  lot  that  had 
caused  all  the  bitterness  between  him  and  his  brother 
Aleck. 

As  boys,  they  had  fished  over  in  the  brook  rip- 
pling its  way  across  the  meadow,  they  had  driven  the 
cows  to  pasture  and  shucked  corn,  always  together. 
Often,  they  had  run  away  to  Grandmother  Prentice's 
for  cookies;  how  good  they  had  tasted. 

"I  wonder  —  if  —  the  meadow  lot  was  worth  all 
the  price,"  Jared  said,  aloud,  his  stubbornness  falling 
from  him  like  a  worthless  garment  today,  when  Christ 
the  Lord  was  risen  and  all  men  rejoiced. 

The  rockaway  -came  up  the  road  and  turned  in 
at  the  gate,  newly-painted.  The  long,  low  house  shone 
forth  in  fresh  dress,  pure  white.  Roses  and  vines  had 
been  replaced  and  trimmed ;  beds  gay  with  pansies 
were  on  either  side  of  the  brick  walk;  the  grass  was 
coming  up  green  around  the  veranda. 

"Jared  must  have  sold  the  house,"  Eleanor's 
father  remarked,  "and  they've  done  it  over.  I'm  sorry. 
I'd  like  to  have  bought  it  if — : 


98  THAT  KETKON   STREAK 

David  flung  the  door  between  the  white  pilasters 
wide  open. 

"Come  in,  Uncle  Aleck.  Dinner's  most  ready. 
Hello,  grandmother!  Get  him  into  the  living  room 
quick,  Eleanor,  before  he  balks,"  Davie.  whispered. 

Aleck  did  not  balk,  but  he  turned  pale.  Perhaps 
he  knew  that  a  crisis  was  near,  maybe  his  heart  was 
moved  to  tenderness  at  the  sight  of  his  old  home,  even 
though  it  wore  a  different  aspect. 

David's  voice  was  vibrant  when  he  called  out. 
"Father,  we  have  guests.  Here's  grandmother  and  — 

He  got  no  further,  for  Aleck  stepped  forward, 
firmly. 

"How  are  you,  Jared?" 

"First  rate,  Allie,"  he  gave  him  the  old,  boyish 
name  and  grasped  his  hand. 

"The  Lord  is  risen,  indeed,"  murmured  grand- 
mother, while  Eleanor  slipped  away  to  the  dining 
room  to  hide  her  tears  of  joy. 

"It's  funny,"  David  commented,  when  he  found 
her  with  her  head  buried  in  a  cushion  on  the  window- 
seat.  "Girls  cry  when  they  are  sad  and  they  cry 
when  they  are  happy.  Get  up,  dear,  and  see  if  the 
table  is  all  right.  The  lady  who  consented  to  cook 
our  meals,  for  a  consideration,  isn't  much  on  style. 
Eleanor,  they've  made  up!  And  they're  sitting  in 
those  two  big  easy  chairs  we  put  on  purpose  in  front 
of  the  fire,  talking  over  old  times.  I  haven't  seen 
father  so  happy  in  years." 

"What's  grandmother  doing?" 

"Just  listening  and  smiling,  sweet  as  a  peach  in 
her  pink  ribbons.  Oh,  Eleanor,  it's  succeeded  grand- 
ly. The  trouble  all  along  has  been  the  Ketron  stub- 
bornness. Neither  one  of  them  was  ready  to  give  up 
his  own  will  and  say  he  was  sorry." 

"Look  out  for  yourself,  Davie,"  warned  Eleanor, 
"you've  got  a  lot  of  stubbornness  in  you." 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  99 

"And  you're  a  chip,  too." 

Then  they  both  laughed,  but  in  their  hearts,  they 
knew  it  was  all  true,  the  Ketron  inheritance  had  come 
down  to  them  in  good  measure. 

What  a  dinner  that  was!  Now,  it  was  flavored 
by  laughter  and  good-will ! 

At  the  end,  when  they  had  sat  long  over  the  fruit 
brought  by  Jared  from  his  conservatory,  Aleck  rose 
and  solemnly  congratulated  David  on  his  attainment 
of  twenty-one  years. 

"God  bless  and  keep  you,  dear  boy,  in  the  days 
to  come." 

Grandmother  kissed  Davie  and  so  did  Eleanor, 
but  his  father  sat  very  still. 

David  stood  up  in  his  place  and  made  a  little 
speech. 

"We're  all  together  in  the  old  homestead  on 
Easter  Day.  Eleanor  and  I  fixed  it  up  together,  and 
now  that  I  shall  soon  be  head  over  heels  in  business 
and  it's  no  use  to  leave  the  place  empty,  father  and  I 
have  agreed  — ' 

Jared  sat  up  straight  and  looked  keenly  at  David. 
What  was  the  young  cub  up  to? 

"Father  and  I  have  agreed,"  repeated  David,  well 
knowing  that  he  was  being  watched,  "to  make  over  the 
whole  thing  to  Eleanor." 

"Oh,  Davie!"  murmured  Eleanor. 

Then  Jared  Ketron  shone  out  brilliantly.  Maybe 
he  did  not  like  what  David  —  the  rascal  —  had  done ; 
but  he  was  game,  all  right. 

He  nodded  approvingly  and  turned  to  Aleck  with 
a  smile. 

"This  includes  the  meadow-lot,"  he  said. 

And  this  was  the  nearest  to  making  an  apology 
for  his  meanness  during  all  the  years  that  Jared  Ket- 
ron ever  came.  Aleck  understood.  He  was  cut  off  of 
the  same  cloth  himself. 


CHAPTER  TEN 
Easter  Day 

THAT  Easter  afternoon,  Eleanor,  her  pretty 
room  furnished  with  elegant  daintiness  in 
the  most  comfortable  style  by  one  who  had 
no  end  of  money  at  his  command,  sat  down 
at  the  teak-wood  desk  that  looked  so  plain  and  cost  so 
much,  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Hugh  Hinson. 

Every  once  in  a  while,  she  looked  out  over  the 
broad  fields  around  the  farm  house.  In  her  eyes 
was  that  joy  of  possession  that  fills  the  heart  of  one 
who  owns  a  home  after  years  of  living  in  someone's 
else,  rented  or  otherwise. 

"It's  _ours,  it's  ours !''  her  heart  throbbed  jubi- 
lantly. "Father  will  rest  here  and  get  well.  How  good 
God  is!" 

She  resolved  to  ignore  the  apparent  neglect  which 
Hugh  had  shown.  It  must  be  only  apparent,  for  Hugh 
was  not  the  kind  to  be  rude  or  forgetful,  nor  was 
Eleanor  ready  to  lose  a  friend.  Friends  like  Hugh 
are  very  rare  in  this  world,  Eleanor  argued,  better  to 
stoop  a  little  than  to  go  through  life  without  them. 

All  about  the  beautiful  Easter  Day  she  told  him 
without  referring  to  the  reconciliation  between  the 
two  brothers,  entirely  a  family  affair.  She  smiled  at 
the  sound  of  Uncle  Jared's  hearty  laugh  floating  up 
to  her  from  the  living  room,  echoed  by  her  father. 
The  two  were  sitting  in  the  dusk,  telling  stories  of 
pranks  committed  many  years  before. 

She  told  Hugh  about  David ;  how  kind  he  was, 
how  thoughtful  and  generous.  She  and  her  father 
were  to  live  on  the  farm  near  grandmother's ;  surely 
he  had  not  forgotten  the  happy  Thanksgiving  Day 

(100) 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  101 

they  had  spent  together  at  Hillside.  It  seemed  long 
ago,  didn't  it? 

In  the  next  June  she  would  graduate  from  col- 
lege, but  it  was  agreed  that  she  should  not  teach. 
Father  was  alone  and  now  it  was  not  necessary,  for 
the  farm  would  produce  all  they  needed  and  something 
over.  She  intended  to  take  a  course  in  domestic 
science  and  agriculture,  would  subscribe  to  the  best 
farm  journals  so  that  she  could  help  in  a  really  prac- 
tical way. 

What  fun  it  would  be  to  raise  vegetables,  and  see 
things  grow !  Never,  never  would  she  go  back  to  that 
hot,  close,  noisy  city  to  live,  so  long  as  something  to 
eat  could  be  raised  on  the  farm. 

"How  are  you  getting  on,  Hugh?  Your  letters 
must  have  miscarried  for  no  news  of  you  has  come ; 
even  Davie  knows  nothing  of  you.  Do  let  us  know 
how  you  are  getting  on  and  what  Arizona  looks  like. 

"I'd  like  to  do  some  real,  active  work.  I  envy 
Ines  Guille,  who  has  been  studying  to  be  a  nurse. 
That  is  doing  something  worth  while.  For  me,  it's 
stay  at  home  with  father;  that's  my  duty. 

"When  I  get  back  to  college,  I'll  run  down  some 
day  and  see  your  mother  and  sister.  I  thought  Agnes 
a  dear  girl,  when  she  came  up  to  commencement  last 
year." 

Eleanor  read  her  letter  over,  and  laughed  at  her- 
self. "I  suppose  that  I  ought,  'be  rights'  to  be  ashamed 
of  myself,  writing  to  a  man  who  hasn't  written  me 
once.  If  it  was  anybody  but  Hugh  Hinson,  I  should 
not  do  it.  In  fact,  it  wouldn't  be  worth  while.  Grand- 
mother would  think  that  girls  of  the  present  day  are 
not  so  modest  as  those  of  ye  olden  times.  Maybe  they 
are  not.  I'm  going  to  risk  it." 

She  sealed  her  letter  and  ran  downstairs,  laying 
it  on  the  hall  table  for  somebody  to  mail.  David  came 
along  later,  and  marvelled  as  he  read  the  address. 


IO2  THAT  KETRON  STREAK  . 

"Writing  to  old  Hugh,  is  she?  Well,  isn't 
Eleanor  the  girl?  I'd  like  to  have  news  of  him.  By 
this  time,  he's  torn  my  epistle  to  pieces  in  disgust. 
Maybe,  I  ought  to  have  looked  up  things  about  that 
check,  maybe  — "  another  thought  struck  him  so  hard 
that  he  winced.  "Maybe  I  ought  to  have  believed  in 
him,  even  though  his  hand-writing  did  stare  me  in  the 
face.  I  never  knew  him  to  lie,  or  steal  or  be  dis- 
honorable. Why  couldn't  I  have  taken  his  word  for 
it?  Now  it's  all  off  between  us  and  somehow,  tonight, 
I  want  to  be  friends  with  Hugh  more  than  with  any- 
one else." 

From  that  moment  on,  David  developed  a  con- 
science that  prodded  him  and  every  prod  hurt.  Had 
he  been  unfair?  Had  he  believed  evil  of  his  friend 
without  investigating?  Why? 

Into  his  mind  crept  a  faint  distrust  of  Tom  Par- 
sons. It  was  Tom  who  had  suggested  that  Hugh 
was  not  what  he  appeared  to  be,  that  he  was  a  psalm- 
singing  hypocrite,  long  before  the  check  turned  up. 

There  are  strange  contradictions  in  human  char- 
acters. Although  David  Ketron  was  tormented  by  his 
conscience,  although  he  began  to  fear  that  he  was  not 
the  paragon  he  thought  himself,  even  if  he  was  Jared 
Ketron's  son  and  had  a  swell  bank  account,  he  would 
not  budge  one  inch  to  look  up  the  matter,  he  would  not 
tell  Eleanor  the  story  or  ask  her  advice!  and  he  con- 
tinued to  go  around  with  Tom  Parsons  as  usual,  while 
he  watched  him  with  keen,  critical  eye  and  noted  every 
word  he  said. 

He  even  egged  him  on  to  talk  of  Hugh  and  say 
mean  things  about  him.  It  eased  his  conscience  to 
hear  Hugh  abused,  because  it  made  his  own  actions 
seem  more  reasonable.  At  the  same  time,  his  soul 
longed  for  his  friend,  as  the  soul  of  David  had  longed 
for  Jonathan. 

On  that  Easter  Day,  when  Eleanor  was  writing 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  103 

in  her  new  home,  Hugh  was  sitting  in  a  rough  hut  on 
the  borders  of  a  sandy  desert  in  Arizona.  Around 
him  were  a  few  scrubby  plants.  The  sun  beat  down 
with  scorching  heat.  He  was  enthusiastic  over  his 
work,  although  it  had  certain  dangers.  Already  his 
superiors  trusted  him  and  prophesied  that  he  would 
make  good  in  his  profession,;  already  he  had  saved 
some  money  for  that  last  year  at  college.  A  man  rode 
up  on  a  gray  donkey. 

"Mail  for  you,  Hinson,"  he  called  out. 

"One  from  mother,  one  from  Agnes,  half  a  dozen 
others  from  people  who  don't  count  —  and  none  from 
Davie,"  said  Hvigh  to  himself. 

He  realized  now  how  eagerly  he  had  expected 
one  from  Davie,  for  of  course,  he'd  look  up  the  mat- 
ter of  that  forged  check  at  once  and  write  him  when 
he  found  out  his  mistake.  It  could  not  be  possible  that 
David  Ketron,  his  friend,  would  believe,  honestly  be- 
lieve that  he  could  be  capable  of  such  an  action. 

The  man  who  had  brought  the  mail  sauntered 
up  to  the  place  where  Hugh  was  sitting,  gazing  across 
the  golden  sand-waves  of  the  desert  as  if  he  was  try- 
ing to  look  beyond  them,  to  peer  into  the  heart  of  a 
mystery  —  the  mystery  of  life  and  friendship. 

"Brought  ye  some  grub,"  drawled  the  tall,  lank 
fellow  with  heavily  lined  face  and  a  pair  of  keen  brown 
eyes.  "Look  kinder  all  in,  ye  do." 

"It's  good  of  you,  Snooks,"  replied  Hugh,  taking 
the  dinner-pail. 

Even  if  a  fellow's  heart  is  sad  he  can  still  eat,  and 
the  steaming  stew  and  Johnny-cake  were  not  by  any 
means  bad,  cooked  by  an  Indian  squaw  down  in  the 
gully  beneath  them  over  which  was  to  go  a  mighty 
viaduct. 

"Down  on  yer  luck?"  asked  Snooks,  stretching 
himself  out  on  the  burning  earth  and  cutting  off  a 
big  piece  of  tobacco. 


lO4  THAT  KKTKON   STKKAK 

"Well  —  not  exactly,"  answered  Hugh. 

"Some  girl,  I  s'pose,"  ventured  Snooks  with  a 
grin. 

Hugh  flushed  a  deeper  crimson  than  was  war- 
ranted by  the  glare  of  the  setting  sun. 

"Didn't  mean  nothin',"  apologized  Snooks. 
"Thought  ye  wanted  a  letter  that  hadn't  come.  That's 
all." 

"I  did,  but  it  wasn't  from  any  girl.  It  was  from 
my  churn  in  college." 

"Been  to  college,  hav'  ye,  boy  ?" 

"Yes,  for  three  years  and  I've  come  out  here  to 
get  a  start  and  save  some  money  so  that  I  can  finish. 
My  father'st  dead  and  my  mother's  — 

"A  widdy.  So  was  mine.  She's  gone  now,  too. 
Do  ye  know,  it's  queer  thing  howa  fellow  remembers 
things  w'en  he's  far  off  from  home.  There  was 
mother's  doughnuts,  now,  I  can't  fergit  'em,  an' 
mother's  hand,  kinder  soft,  in  spite  of  the  hard  work 
she  done.  I  got  a  lot  o'  folks  in  ole  Vermont." 

"Where  did  you  live?"  inquired  Hugh,  more  for 
the  sake  of  making  conversation  than  for  any  real  in- 
terest in  Snooks'  former  residence.  His  mind  was 
still  busy  with  the  problem  of  David  Ketron. 

"Little  place  called  Hillside,  ain't  known  fer  any- 
thin'  partic'lar,  'cept  that  Jared  Ketron  the  big  mill- 
owner  come  from  there." 

Hugh  woke  up  suddenly  and  leaned  forward, 
speaking  with  ill-concealed  eagerness. 

"Did  you  know  the  Ketrons?" 

"Know  'em!  Wai,  I  ruther  guess  I  did.  There 
was  two  brothers,  one  of  'em  knew  how  to  make- 
money,  t'other  didn't.  They  quarreled  over  a  piece  o' 
land  an'  won't  speak  t'  each  other.  Knew  Mis'  Prn- 
tice,  too,  whose  datter  Jared  married.  He's  got  a  boy. 
I  hear,  who  kin  spend  all  the  cash  his  father  makes. 
an'  t'other  brother  has  a  girl,  Eleanor,  I  seen  her  when 
she  was  a  baby." 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  105 

"I  spent  last  Thanksgiving  in  Hillside." 

"Where  to?" 

"Mrs.  Prentice's." 

"Ye  don't  say.  Give  us  yer  hand,  boy.  Spent 
Thanksgivin'  in  ole  Vermont !  Wai  —  sometimes  I 
think  —  ain't  no  use  talkin'  'bout  it,  though  !  Ever  see 
J'siah  who  works  for  Mis'  Prentice?" 

"Surely." 

"He's  my  brother,  but  he  don't  know  where  I  am. 
Ye  see,  I  was  a  black  sheep.  I  done  a  mean  thing 
once  an'  run  away  out  here.  I'm  thinkin'  o'  goin'  back 
sometime.  D'ye  think,"  he  asked  anxiously,  "that 
J'siah  would  be  glad  to  see  me?" 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  was  Hugh's  hearty  reply. 

"To  think  that  ye  know  the  Ketrons,"  murmured 
Snooks.  "Wai,  this  here  world's  a  mighty  little  place, 
ain't  it?  I  say,  boy,  if  ye  ain't  too  tired,  let's  foot  it 
to  the  camp.  Tain't  many  miles  an'  there's  a  feller 
over  there  in  the  tent  that  sure  kin  talk.  Got  a  lot  o' 
soldiers  in  the  camp  ready  to  march  fer  the  border  if 
the  Greasers  squeak." 

"All  right,"  assented  Hugh,  glad  of  a  chance  for 
some  diversion. 

It  was  a  splendid  evening  and  the  air,  now  that 
the  sun  had  set  and  the  big  jolly  moon  was  rising,  had 
become  cool  and  fresh.  The  desert  stretching  far  away 
beyond  the  deep  ravine  turned  to  silver  and  each  scrub- 
by bush,  each  cleft  in  the  rocks  nearby  was  a  clearcut 
shadow.. 

Somebody  had  bestowed  the  name  of  Snooks  on 
the  big  Vermonter  and  it  had  stuck.  Nobody  knew  or 
cared  to  know  what  his  real  name  was  and  he  had  al- 
most forgotten  that  he  was  once  called  Sam. 

He  shared  Hugh's  cabin  on  the  edge  of  a  vari- 
colored cliff  of  sandstone,  sleeping  in  the  bunk  built 
in  the  wall  over  Hugh's  and  eating  the  same  food 
with  him  and  forty  other  men  who  were  working  for 
Uncle  Sam  in  a  big  government  enterprise  to  open  up 


io6'  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

this  part  of  Arizona.  Later  the  desert  was  to  be  ir- 
rigated and  some  day,  there  would  be  fruit-farms 
where  now  was  billowy  sand.  Snooks  wasn't  afraid  of 
anything  in  this  world ;  he  confessed,  with  vigorous 
language  that  he  did  have  some  fear  of  \vhat  might 
happen  to  him  in  the  next  world,  if  he  did  not  play 
a  square  game  here. 

"A  fellow's  gotta  be  square,"  he  said,  as  he 
whittled  a  stick  in  leisure  moments.  "Sort  of  a  game 
we're  playin'  down  here.  One  wins,  t'other  loses.  It 
don't  matter  in  the  long  run,  for  they  both  come  to 
the  same  end  at  last  an'  six  feet  of  earth  is  'nough  fer 
the  rich  ez  it  is  fer  the  poor.  But  ef  you  don't  play 
fair,  if  you  cheat  an'  try  to  get  t'other  fellow's  money, 
you  gotta  pay.  that's  all  there  is  about  it.  Ye  gotta 
pay  when  ye  git  over  yonder." 

He  would  point  to  the  horizon ;  evidently  the 
other  world  lay  in  the  direction  of  the  sunset.  "Going 
West"  was  literal  to  Snooks. 

He  was  whittling,  now ;  he  was  always  found  cut- 
ting up  sticks  when  he  did  not  have  anything  else  to 
do.  Along  his  path  of  life  he  left  behind  him  little 
mementos  of  idle  hours,  a  boat  for  a  boy,  a  queer  doll 
for  a  girl  or  a  whistle. 

"They've  got  a  great  feller  over  there  in  the 
'hut',"  he  commented,  as  the  two  walked  along  to- 
ward the  camp.  "New  kind.  Don't  preach,  just  gets 
right  down  by  your  side  an'  grips,  your  hand  an'  talks 
'bout  God  ez  ef  he  knew  him  an'  he  was  goin.'  right 
'long  with  us  into  the  danger.  He  makes  a  feller  be- 
lieve- there  is  a  higher  power.  So  they  say.  I  ain't 
heard  him." 

Hugh  remembered  his  slogan :  "God  go  with 
you."  It  meant  by  your  side,  walking  right  along; 
you  could  almost  touch  Him  if  you  reached  out  your 
hand. 

"I  knew  a  man  who  talked  that  way."  Hugh  re- 
marked. 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  107 

They  were  picking  their  way  over  rough  ground 
and  stones  to  the  small  rude  hut,  crowded  with 
soldiers. 

"Good  kind,  mighty  rare.  Most  of  'em  try  to 
punch  religion  down  yer  throat,  they  don't  tell  ye  that 
God's  right  'long  side,"  commented  Snooks.  Hugh 
heard  a  familiar  voice  say:  "That's  fine,  boys!  At 
it  again!  Now,  all  together." 

He  stood  up  on  tip-toe  to  see  who  the  man  was, 
toward  whom  every  man's  eye  was  turned  in  eager 
attention. 

There  stood  Guy  Guille,  world-famous  artist, 
beating  time  with  a  stick  and  singing  for  all  he  was 
worth. 

A  series  of  short  stories  followed,  told  in  Guy's 
best  style.  The  men  shouted  and  clapped  or  sat  in 
perfect  silence  according  to  the  subject. 

From  "Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonny  Boon''  to 
"Three  blind  Mice,"  an  ancient  standby,  the  repertoire 
ranged.  Guy  held  up  his  hand. 

"Haven't  we  had  the  finest  time  yet?  Now  some- 
body knows  a  hymn  that  he  used  to  sing  when  he  was 
home.  Let's  have  one.  And  then  we'll  tell  God  how 
much  we  thank  him  for  keeping  us  well  and  happy 
and  go  to  bed.  What  shall  it  be,  boys?" 

"Abide  with  me,"  called  out  Snooks,  who  had 
been  enjoying  himself  thoroughly,  singing  like  a  trom- 
bone. 

"All  right." 

The  men  stood  up.  Most  of  them  were  no  older 
than  Hugh  Hinson.  Some  faces  were  hard,  lined 
with  the  results  of  days  and  nights  of  sinful  pleasure, 
others  were  boyish,  unstained  by  the  world. 

"Hold  thou  thy  cross  before  my  closing  eyes ; 
Shine  through  the  gloom  and  guide  me  to  the  skies ; 
Heaven's  morning  breaks  and  earth's  vain  shadows  flee 
In  life,  in  death,  O  Lord, 
Abide  with  me." 


io8  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

they  sang,  then  vanished  into  the  darkness  and  Guy 
Guille  was  left  in  the  small  hut  near  the  firing  front. 

"Great,  ain't  he?"  asked  Snooks,  when  they  crept 
under  their  blankets  that  night. 

"You're  right,"  said  Hugh,  "he's  great,  sure." 

Hugh  did  not  make  himself  known  to  Guy  Guille. 
He  had  a  morbid  feeling  that  David's  suspicions  of 
him  had  cast  a  slur  upon  his  character.  Whenever  he 
could,  he  went  to  the  camp,  keeping  ever  in  the  back 
of  the  hall,  hoping  that  Guy  would  not  recognize  him, 
listening  eagerly  to  all  the  words  spoken,  absorbing 
every  hymn  as  if  he  were  seeking  comfort  and  help. 

Hugh  was  working  too  hard,  that  was  clear;  day 
after  day  in  the  burning  'sunlight  he  labored,  some- 
times blinded  by  the  glare,  his  head  almost  bursting 
with  his  heated  blood. 

Snooks  watched  him  anxiously.  At  night,  when 
the  boy  tossed  in  his  hard  bunk,  the  big  Vermonter 
went  to  the  brook  and  wet  cloths  in  cool  water  to  lay 
upon  his  head  and  listened  to  Hugh's  delirious  words. 
Little  by  little  he  pieced  together  the  story,  heard 
about  David  Ketron  and  the  false  accusations,  about 
Eleanor  Ketron. 

"The  boy's  sick,"  he  said  to  the  man  in  charge 
of  the  work.  "He'd  orter  have  a  rest." 

"I  don't  want  a  rest,"  said  Hugh,  with  a  new  and 
strange  fierceness,  when  the  superintendent  suggested 
that  he  go  for  a  month  to  a  more  bracing  clime. 
"What  do  you  think  I  came  out  here  for?  A  pleasure 
trip?  No  sir,  I  came  to  make  money  and  I'm  not 
going  to  give  in  now." 

"He'll  go  all  to  pieces  some  day,"  prophesied 
Snooks,  shaking  his  head.  "If  he'd  only  git  that  letter 
he's  been  lookin'  fer  so  long." 

With  this  desire,  Snooks  —  otherwise  Sam  —  rode 
his  gray  donkey  over  the  miles  that  separated  the  gully 
from  the  town  where  the  post  office  was.  Some  letters 
he  brought  to  Hugh  but  never  one  from  Davie,  his  old 
friend  who  had  so  grievously  misjudged  him. 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 
The  Ketron  Blood  Cools 

IN  due  course  of  time,  Eleanor  finished  her  college 
course  and  settled  down  in  the  dear  home  where 
her  father  was  rapidly  regaining  his  health,  over- 
seeing the  work  on  the  farm,  watching  the  pink 
apple-blooms  open,  then  drop  their  petals  while  tiny 
fruit    formed,    a    promise    of    sauce    and   pies    later. 
Eleanor  subscribed  for  journals  giving  directions  for 
scientific   farming  and  David  helped  her  by  sending 
the  latest  books  on  agriculture. 

She  had  bee-hives  where  busy-winged  creatures 
flew  in  and  out,  making  honey.  The  cows  yielded  such 
creamy  milk  as  the  Ketrons  had  never  seen  in  those 
days  when  they  lived  in  the  crowded  city,  days  they 
were  glad  to  forget. 

Summer  was  fully  ripe  when  one  afternoon  Jared 
Ketron's  big  car  hummed  its  way  up  the  winding  road 
to  the  farmhouse  and  sounded  a  merry  call  to  Eleanor. 
"Just  come  to  say  good-bye  for  a  couple  of 
months,"  the  mill-owner  explained,  when  they  were 
seated  in  the  living-room  where  all  five  windows  were 
open  upon  a  broad  lawn  with  the  glistening  waters  of 
a  pond  showing  through  drooping  willow-branches. 
"Davie  and  I  are  going  out  West  to  see  about  some 
business." 

"Going  clear  across  the  continent?"  inquired 
Aleck. 

"Don't  know.  Maybe.  I  haven't  had  a  vacation 
for  years  and  this  young  chap  here  needs  one,  too. 
He's  done  well,  I  tell  you.  David's  going  to  make 
good.  Next  year,  when  he  graduates,  he's  intending 
to  learn  the  mill  business  from  A  to  Z." 

009) 


no  THAT  KETKON  STREAK 

"Good  for  David !"  Aleck  said,  while  Eleanor 
clapped  her  hands. 

The  cousins  went  out  into  the  orchard  and  sat 
down  on  a  rustic  bench  placed  there  by  Aleck  Ketron. 
The  flecks  of  sunshine  speckled  the  grass  and  moss. 
On  the  trees,  apples  were  turning  blush-red  and  pears 
had  a  golden  glow  already.  "Ines  Guille  and  her 
aunt  are  going  with  us,"  David  said.  Perhaps  you 
know  that  Guy  is  down  in  Arizona,  spending  the  sum- 
mer with  the  soldiers  who  are  guarding  the  Mexican 
border." 

"In  Arizona,"  mused  Eleanor.  "No,  I  did  not 
know  it.  I  wonder  if  he's  seen  Hugh  Hinson." 

"Don't  know,"  was  David's  laconic  reply. 
"Guy's  a  fine  fellow,  Eleanor/'  he  added,  hastily,  as  if 
in  a  hurry  to  change  the  subject,  "but  for  the  life  of 
me  I  can't  see  why  he  gives  so  much  time  to  such 
kind  of  work  when  he  has  a  gift  for  painting." 

"He  paints,  too." 

"Yes.  And  he's  got  a  high  ideal  of  what's  ex- 
pected of  him  in  this  world." 

There  was  a  wistful  note  in  David's  voice.  A  new 
and  surprising  note,  for  the  Ketron  streak  was  prom- 
inent in  David  as  well  as  in  his  father,  a  sorfof  self- 
sufficiency  and  stubbornness  —  some  called  it  pig- 
headedness.  Josiah  was  one  of  these. 

"A  Ketron  mostly  thinks  he  knows  it  all,"  Josiah 
stated  at  the  evening  gathering  in  the  store. 

"Then  you  think  that  living  up  to  what  Christ 
teaches  is  a  high  ideal  ?"  Eleanor  followed  up  her 
advantage. 

"For  Guy,  yes.  He's  thirty-five;  he's  old.  But 
I'm  young  and  I'm  not  going  to  give  up  all  the  fun 
of  this  life." 

"You  needn't  do  that  —  "  began  Eleanor. 

David  had  been  serious  as  long  as  he  could  stand 
it.  "Ry  the  way,  Eleanor  could  you  keep  Andrie  up 


I'll  AT  KKTKON   STREAK  111 

in  the  country  while  I'm  gone?  I'll  pay  him  and  he 
can  make  Uncle  Aleck  more  comfortable.  The  old 
fellow's  broken-hearted  because  I'm  going  away, 
'Who'll  press  your  clothes  or  fix  your  bath,  Master 
David?'  he  asked  forlornly." 

Eleanor  smiled. 

"Of  course  we'll  be  glad  to  have  Andrie.  David, 
if  you  should  meet  Hugh  out  there  — 

"I  hope  that  I  shall  not,"  David  answered,  with 
a  touch  of  fierceness,  "something  might  happen." 

"What's  the  matter?     What  did  Hugh  do?" 

"Eleanor,  I  told  you  before  that  it's  something 
girls  can't  enter  into." 

"I  might  help  to  make  it  right.  You  and  Hugh 
were  such  good  friends." 

"Well,  we're  not  any  more  and  I  don't  want  to 
see  him  or  hear  of  him  again/' 

Even  while  he  was  speaking.  David  Ketron  knew7 
that  this  was  not  true.  He  did  want  to  see  Hugh,  but 
he  would  not  yield  to  this  desire  any  more  than  Jared 
Ketron  had  been  willing  to  yield  to  his  brother  Aleck 
in  the  matter  of  the  meadow-lot. 

That  Ketron  streak !     What  trouble  it  had  made. 

"It's  funny  how  much  father  is  interested  in  Guy 
Guille's  work,"  continued  David,  getting  on  safe 
ground  again.  "Guy  wrote  me  a  couple  of  weeks  ago 
and  said  he  needed  money,  had  spent  all  his  own  and 
was  praying  for  some  more.  Talks  just  as  if  hf  was 
asking  his  father  to  send  him  some.  I  read  it  to  dad 
an'  for  a  moment  he  didn't  say  a  word.  Then  what 
does  he  do  but  get  his  check-book  and  write  a  check 
for  two  thousand.  'Send  him  this,  Davie,  an'  tell  him 
there's  plenty  more  where  it  came  from.  That  friend 
of  yours  can  call  on  me  for  all  he  wants.  That's  the 
kind  of  religion  I  like,  the  kind  that  brings  the  God- 
Man  right  to  human  beings,'  I  never  thought  dad 
would  talk  like  that." 


112  THAT  KETRON   STKKAK 

"Good  for  Uncle  Jared !" 

"Tom  Parsons  has  left  college  for  good.  Gone 
into  the  navy.  You  didn't  like  Tom,  did  you, 
Eleanor?" 

"I  detested  him." 

"He  isn't  worth  getting  so  worked  up  over, 
though  I  always  liked  him." 

"Because  he  bowed  down  and  worshiped  an  idol 
of  gold." 

"Why  don't  you  add,  'with  feet  of  clay'  ?  You'd 
have  struck  it  right.  You're  mighty  keen  sometimes, 
Eleanor.  Parsons  never  liked  work  any  better  than  I 
did,  he  was  the  luxurious  kind,  could  spend  a  lot  of 
money." 

"Where  did  he  get  it?" 

"Mostly  out  of  me,  or  out  of  dad.  Eleanor,  when 
I  get  through  college,  as  dad  told  you  I'm  going  to 
learn  father's  business  from  beginning  to  finish  and 
I'm  going  to  earn  my  own  living." 

"Davie,  you're  going  to  be  a  man."  Eleanor  an- 
swered, jubilantly. 

David  went  to  his  old  room  just  before  he  was  to 
start  for  the  West  with  his  father  and  the  two  ladies 
who  were  to  be  their  guests  in  the  long  trip  across 
the  continent  in  a  new  powerful  car  just  purchased  by 
Jared  Ketron. 

A  batch  of  mail  was  waiting  for  him.  among  the 
letters  was  a  package  of  vouchers  from  the  bank. 

He  glanced  at  them  hastily. 

"Well,  I'll  —  be  —  jiggered!"  he  exclaimed  aloud, 
staring  at  a  check.  "Pay  to  cash,  signed  by  me,  six 
hundred  dollars,  endorsed  'Hugh  Hinson.'  Forged 
like  the  other  one  was.  But  it  cannot  have  been  Hugh 
who  drew  the  money,  he's  too  far  away  and  this  is 
dated  June  twenty-first.  Here's  a  mystery!  Some 
stupid  clown  did  this,  sure.  He  might  have  known 
I'd  detect  it.  But  perhaps  the  fool  thought  I'd  be 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  113 

gone  and  would  never  see  the  vouchers.  Father  says 
that  besides  being  wicked,  rascals  are  almost  always 
short-sighted  and  defeat  their  ends  by  leaving  some 
loop-hole  unguarded.  But  who  did  this?  The  same 
fellow  who  did  the  other  trick.  I  can't  bear  to  think 
of  how  I  talked  to  Hugh,  of  how  I  doubted  his  word, 
fairly  slapped  him  in  the  face  with  my  meanness." 

David  could  be  swift  when  he  wanted  to  be.  He 
was  in  a  taxi  in  five  minutes  and  at  the  Trust  Company 
Bank  in  ten.  Inside  of  half  an  hour,  he  had  all  the 
information  needed  to  straighten  up  the  first  check. 

On  that  date,  Mr.  Hinson  had  drawn  out  five 
hundred  dollars  and  closed  up  an  account  in  his 
mother's  name.  This  was  exactly  as  Hugh  had  said. 

The  second  check  for  six  hundred  dollars  had 
evidently  been  cashed  at  the  Empire  Trust  Company, 
New  York.  It  had  their  stamp. 

Jared  Ketron  and  his  son  each  had  accounts  here ; 
the  cashiers  recognized  David  at  once.  One  of  them 
remembered  paying  out  the  money,  he  had  also  noticed 
the  man  to  whom  it  was  paid.  The  forgery  of  David's 
signature,  even  to  a  peculiar  flourish  that  he  made  on 
the  "D"  was  so  exact  that  no  question  as  to  its  gen- 
uineness had  been  raised.  It  was  payable  to  "Cash" 
and  Hinson  signed  his  name. 

The  clerk  had,  however,  like  the  one  who  paid 
the  money  on  the  first  check,  taken  Hinson's  address 
in  New  York.  353  West  5oth  Street. 

David  looked  at  his  wrist-watch. 

"I  guess  I'll  have  time.  Hurry  up.  please  I've  got 
to  be  off  for  Ohio  in  an  hour,"  he  said  to  the  taxi 
driver,  who  speeded  up  willingly  for  the  handsome 
young  man. 

It  was  an  apartment  house.  David  went  to  the 
top  floor  and  rang  the  bell. 

"Mr.  Hinson?  Don't  know  anybody  by  that 
name.  Young,  was  he?  About  twenty-two  or  so?  I 


i  14  THAT  KKTRON   STREAK 

did  have  a  lodger  last  month,  on  his  way  to  training 
for  a  sailor,  I  guess.  He  only  stayed  a  week.  I  for- 
get his  name,  but  maybe  I  can  find  it  wrote  down 
somewheres." 

"Oh,  never  mind.  I'm  in  an  awful  hurry.  What 
sort  of  looking  fellow  was  this  man?  Tall,  dark  eyes, 
pleasant  face." 

"No  sir.  Not  that  kind.  He  was  slender  an'  his 
eyes  were  set  too  close  together  for  my  way  of  think- 
ing." 

"Had  a  scar  on  his  forehead  ?" 

David's  mind  was  working  fast. 

"Seems  to  me  he  did." 

"Went  into  the  navy  service?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so." 
'  "Thank  you  very  much." 

David  leaped  down  the  stairs,  not  waiting  to  ring 
up  the  elevator  boy,  and  jumped  into  his  taxi. 

"Drive  like  the  wind,"  he  ordered. 

"It  was  Tom  Parsons,"  he  muttered,  "the  traitor 
and  sneak.  I  believed  in  him  and  let  Hugh  go,  more 
fool  I.  Now,  there's  no  chance  to  write.  I  can  do 
nothing  but  wait.  But  now  I  don't  want  to  see  Hugh. 
I'm  ashamed." 

This  was  a  new  feeling  for  Jared  Ketron's  only 
son  and  heir. 

Eleanor  paid  her  promised  visit  to  Mrs.  Hinson 
and  Agnes,  wondering  why  she  was  willing  to  take 
so  much  trouble  when  Hugh  had  not  answered  her 
letter. 

She  found  them  in  just  the  kind  of  a  home  where 
Hugh's  mother  would  live.  In  a  tiny  cottage  sur- 
rounded by  gardens,  where  vegetables  and  fruit,  cur- 
rant bushes  laden  with  rosy  globules,  holly  hocks, 
larkspur,  mignonette  were  all  growing  in  delightful 
confusion. 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  115 

"Our  Hugh  has  been  transferred  to  a  place  near 
the  Mexican  border.  We  haven't  had  news  now  for 
two  weeks  but  I'm  sure  he's  happy  and  busy,  and  I 
pray  God  that  he  may  come  home  safe." 

So  did  Eleanor. 

For  a  girl  who  belonged  to  the  unromantic,  hard- 
headed  Ketron  family,  for  a  girl  who  had  written  a 
letter  to  a  man  and  had  received  no  reply,  Eleanor 
Ketron  was  very  sentimental  and  even  happy. 

No  matter  what  Hugh  Hinson  did,  she  believed  in 
his  sincerity  and  uprightness.  There  was  some  good 
reason  for  his  silence.  She  shrewdly  decided  that  the 
quarrel  between  him  and  FJavid  was  the  reason.  But 
Eleanor  would  not  own,  even  to  her  own  heart,  that 
true  confidence  and  respect  are  the  foundations  for 
true  love. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 
The  Streak   Fades  Away 

SNOOKS  got  out  of  his  bunk  on  a  blistering  day 
in  the  latter  part  of  August,  went  out  softly  and 
plunged  into  the  gully  at  whose  base  ran  the 
cooling  brook,  the  only  sign  of  water  for  sev- 
eral miles.  Even  now,  the  brook  was  drying  up  and 
the  stones  were  white  and  smooth  at  the  foot  of  the 
rocks, 

A  beautiful  sight  were  those  sandstone  cliffs, 
turned  into  gorgeous  rainbow  colors  by  the  glorifying 
rays  of  the  sun. 

"Gimme  some  breakfast  for  the  kid,"  Snooks 
said  to  the  squaw.  "He  ain't  awake  yit  an'  I  ain't 
goin'  to  disturb  him,  fer  it's  a  holiday  an'  I'm  off  fer 
town.  I'll  jest  leave  his  grub  by  side  o'  his  bunk  an' 
ef  it's  a  little  cold,  he  won't  mind  it." 

This  Snooks  did,  shaking  his  head  as  he  saw  how 
flushed  Hugh's  face  was,  how  his  hair  was  wet  with 
perspiration  that  had  a  queer,  clammy  feel  to  it,  as 
the  rough  hand  brushed  it  gently  away  from  the  sleep- 
ing man's  forehead. 

"I'll  be  gone  for  a  couple  of  days,"  Snooks  ex- 
plained to  the  superintendent.  "I'm  goin'  tub  git  some 
medicine  fer  the  boy.  He  ain't  well." 

The  gray  donkey  leisurely  carried  Snooks  over  a 
glowing  white  road,  unrelieved  by  green  of  any  kind. 
Everything  was  white,  white  with  dust,  withered  with 
the  sun.  If  it  would  only  rain !  But  it  never  did. 
Man  and  beast  suffered  from  the  eternal  drouth.  The 
gray  donkey  minded  it  least  of  all,  but  even  he  was 
weary  and  his  long  ears  drooped  sadly  when  he  and 
Snooks  arrived  at  the  "town,"  actually  a  group  of  a 

(116) 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  117 

dozen  unpainted  adobe  houses,  a  general  store  and  a 
post  office.  Some  soldiers  were  lounging  around,  try- 
ing to  get  some  enjoyment  out  of  a  day  oft. 

Just  as  Snooks  swung  his  form  from  off  the 
donkey  at  the  door  of  the  "store,"  a  large  motor  car 
moved  away,  its  wheels  sinking  into  the  thick  dust  of 
the  road.  The  soldiers  gazed  after  it,  the  man  who 
kept  the  "store"  was  eagerly  watching  its  departure 
and  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  the  place  was  on 
the  street. 

"Hes  Joneses  Corners  got  to  be  a  place  fer  tour- 
ists?" asked  Snooks,  "What  under  heavens  be  sech 
folks  here  fer?" 

"Wall,  Joneses  Corners  is  some  place,"  answered 
the  man  nearest  to  him,  growing  red  in  the  face. 

"I  ain't  runniir  down  Joneses  Corners,"  apolo- 
gized "Snooks,  "but  sech  a  sight  ez  that  there  car  ain't 
crossed  my  vision  in  all  the  time  I  been  comin'  here 
fer  mail  which  I  never  got." 

"One  o'  them  eastern  mill-i-on-aires,"  explained 
Tim  Maguire,  called  the  Mayor  of  Joneses  Corners. 
He  was  also  the  postmaster.  "Got  a  lot  o'  mail,  he 
did.  Name's  Ketron,  Jared  Ketron." 

Something  made  Snooks  feel  very  queer,  whether 
it  was  the  heat  or  the  dust  or  the  surprise  he  did  not 
know.  When  he  came  to  himself  somebody  was  fan- 
ning him  with  a  hat  and  another  was  pouring  camphor 
up  his  nose.  This  treatment  was  effective. 

After  he  had  expressed  his  opinion  of  it  in  no 
mild  tones,  Snooks  said :  "Did  he  say  which  way  he 
was  a'goin'  ?" 

"Want  a  ride?"  jeered  a  voice. 

"He's  a-headin'  fer  the  camp.  The  shuvver  asked 
the  way.  Wants  to  see  the  feller  that  the  boys  all  fall 
over  theirselves  to  do  things  fer.  My!  the  way  them 
guys  talks  about  'im  is  wonderful.  'Cordin'  to  them 
there  ain't  nobody  like  'im  this  side  o'  heaven." 


1 1 8  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

"They're  about  right,"  assented  Snooks,  "he's  got 
the  goods  an'  delivers  'em  straight.  I've  seen  'im  an' 
I'm  goin'  straight  on  there  now." 

"Ye'll  hev'  to  hurry  an'  foot  it,  I  reckon.  Yer 
donkey's  all  in." 

"Ill  walk  ef  I  hev'  to,"  said  Snooks,  firmly. 

"Mebbe  the  feller  with  the  car  is  a  friend  o' 
yourn,"  inserted  some  wag,  and  there  was  a  loud 
laugh. 

Then  Snooks  paralyzed  the  crowd. 

"Know'd  him  an'  his  brother  w'en  I  was  a  boy," 
he  explained  enjoying  the  effect  of  his  words. 
"Shouldn't  be  s'prised  if  he  gimme  a  ride  back  home 
in  that  there  expensive  car  o'  his'n." 

"I  got  a  letter  fer  Hinson,"  said  the  postmaster. 

"(iimme  it.  An'  I  want  somethin'  fer  fever.  Best 
medicine  ye  got.  The  kid's  sick." 

The  whole  population  was  present  when  Snooks, 
now  risen  to  high  place  in  public  estimation  made  his 
exit  from  Joneses  Corners  on  the  best  horse  of  the 
mayor.  It  was  twenty-five  miles,  good  measure, 
to  camp,  and  Snooks  did  a  lot  of  thinking  as  he 
traversed  that  distance. 

Snooks  was  tired  of  his  wandering  life.  He  had 
a  strange,  new  desire  to  get  back  to  the  "old  place," 
to  see  J'siah  and  eat  pumpkin  pie,  to  walk  under  the 
great  elms  and  see  the  white  church  with  green  shut- 
ters. 

"I  must  be  gettin'  religion,"  he  mused.  "Ain't 
wanted  to  see  the  outside,  let  alone  the  inside  of  a 
church  before  in  years  an'  years.  It's  that  feller  over 
to  camp  that's  done  it.  Makes  God  seem  kinder  near, 
somehow." 

He  lit  a  match  and  looked  long  at  Hugh's  letter. 

"Never  see  that  writin'  before,"  he  muttered,  "an" 
I've  brought  the  boy  a  good  many  letters.  Looks  like 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  119 

a  girruls   writin'.     Mebbe   it's   be   the   one   he's  been 
a-lookin'  fer." 

It  had  been  a  most  successful  journey  across  the 
country  from  New  York  to  Arizona.  Weather  per- 
fect, roads  in  good  condition,  machine  as  nearly  ideal 
as  the  hand  of  skilled  mechanician  could  make  it. 

'  The  presence  of  Ines  Guille,  who  had  been  busy 
nursing  poor  wounded  soldiers,  heroes  back  from 
France,  had  made  it  a  happy  time  for  David,  who 
began  to  dream  dreams  and  feel  himself  a  man. 

And  now  they  were  on  the  way  to  the  soldiers' 
camp  where  they  were  to  meet  Guy  and  perhaps  he 
would  go  back  with  them,  for  summer  was  almost 
over  and  his  work  in  New  York  called  him. 

Over  the  rough  roads  went  the  car  from  Joneses 
Corners,  as  swiftly  as  was  possible  in  the  dust. 

Then,  suddenly,  there  was  a  sharp  crack  and  the 
car  stopped  with  a  jerk. 

"Tire  bust?"  asked  Jared  Ketron. 

"I'm  afraid  it's  more  than  a  tire,"  answered  the 
"shuvver,"  looking  over  the  machinery. 

"Not  a  very  cheerful  place  to  stop,"  David  re- 
marked to  Ines. 

"Let's  get  out  and  walk  awhile,"  she  replied. 

"It's  a  matter  of  an  hour,  perhaps  longer,''  said 
McLaughlin.  "If  somebody  would  pass  by,  I'd  send 
back  to  that  town  for  a  wheelwright.  He'd  do  the 
job  in  a  few  moments.  I  haven't  the  proper  tools." 

"Not  much  chance  of  anybody  passing  this  way. 
Toughest  road  I  ever  struck.  Guess  we'll  have  to 
camp  here  till  morning,"  Mr.  Ketron  responded. 

"We  shan't  mind  that,"  answered  Ines.  "It's  a 
beautiful  night.  Going  to  be  moonlight." 

"The  baskets  are  full  of  good  things  to  eat,"  in- 
serted David.  "Its  lucky  we  loaded  up  at  Joneses 
Corners." 

"Oh,  it's  delightful !"  was  Ines's  exclamation. 


I2O  I'n AT  KETRON  STREAK 

"At  any  rate,  we'll  have  supper  and  by  that  time, 
somebody  will  come  by  and  McLaughlin  can  see  what 
he  can  do  while  we  are  waiting." 

Ham  sandwiches,  coffee  from  the  thermos  bottles, 
luscious  fruit  vanished  but  nobody  came.  All  about 
them  was  the  great  stillness  of  a  partially  settled  coun- 
try at  night-time. 

Hour  after  hour  passed,  but  no  one  wanted  to 
sleep.  David  told  stories,  his  father  joked  with  the 
ladies  and  McLaughlin  worked  at  the  car.  He  held 
out  hopes  that  soon  it  would  be  repaired ;  the  damage1 
was  not  so  serious  as  he  feared. 

Quieter  and  quieter  it  grew.  The  only  noises 
were  the  buzzing  of  insects  and  the  occasional  cry  of 
some  strange  night-bird,  far  away. 

McLaughlin  stopped  pounding  and  listened. 

"Somebody's  coming,"  he  said. 

From  the  distance  sounded  a  nasal  voice,  singing. 
It  was  evidently  an  impromptu  song,  running  thus : 

"Oh.  I'm  goin'  back  to  ole  Vermont 
Where  mince-pies  grow  on  trees, 
I'm  goin'  to  leave  this  desert  place 
Where  there  ain't  nothin'  but  sand  an'  fleas." 

It  was  a  cheerful  song,  one  that  met  an  echo  in 
the  soul  of  every  one  of  the  listeners.  To  Jared  Ket- 
ron  it  brought  visions  of  the  old  farm-house  and  to 
David,  it  meant  Grandma  Prentice  and  Thanksgiving 
Day  and  Thanksgiving  Day  made  him  think  of 
Eleanor  —  and  Hugh. 

Where  was  Hugh  ?  David  and  Jonathan  the  two 
had  been  called  in  college.  David  knew  now  in  the 
darkness  of  the  star-lit  night  that  he  wanted  to  see 
Hugh,  his  soul  clave  to  the  soul  of  his  friend.  "That 
Ketron  Streak"  was  yielding  to  something  better  and 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  121 

nobler ;  he  was  ready  to  say  what  was  hard  for  a 
Ketron,  "I  was  wrong.  Forgive  me." 

But  where  was  Hugh  Hinson  ?  Even  his  mother, 
whom  Eleanor  had  met  one  day,  was  worried.  No 
news  had  come  from  Hugh  for  a  long  time.  He 
seemed  to  have  dropped  out  of  existence. 

""What's  the  matter,  boss?1"  the  voice  said,  as  a 
tall  figure,  hatless.  clad  in  cotton  trousers  and  a  shirt 
which  would  be  much  the  better  for  washing,  material- 
ized out  of  the  darkness.  "Kin  I  help?" 

It  was  Snooks,  on  his  way  from  town  with  the 
mail-bag. 

Catching  sight  of  Ines,  he  stared,  then  touched  his 
forehead.  "Didn't  know  there  was  a  lady  here ;  two 
of  'em,  I  vum,"  noticing  Aunt  Lennie,  who  was  wish- 
ing that  cruel  fate  had  not  led  her  into  the  wild  places 
of  the  earth. 

"Car's  broke,"  answered  the  chauffeur.  "Maybe 
you'd  be  willing  to  go  to  town  an'  get  me  — " 

"Lemme  look  at  it.  Ain't  no  sort  o'  machinery  I 
can't  mend.  Sure !  I  kin  fix  it." 

And  "fix  it"  Snooks  did.  In  half  an  hour,  the 
horn  merrily  tooted  and  the  passengers  got  in. 

"We'll  give  you  a  lift  if  you're  going  our  way," 
said  Jared  Ketron. 

"Don't  mind  if  I  do,"  assented  Snooks,  quite  at 
his  ease.  "I  get  the  mail-bag,  ye  see,  an'  I'll  jest  hang 
it  on  the  nag's  back.  He'll  foller  all  right.  Wot 
would  the  boys  at  Joneses  Corners  say  if  they  could 
see  me  in  Jared  Ketron's  fine  car,"  he  added  to  him- 
self with  a  chuckle,  squeezing  into  a  place  between 
David  and  the  "shuvver." 

Much  as  he  had  boasted,  Snooks  was  shy  about 
disclosing  to  the  mill-owner  his  identity.  When  they 
arrived  at  the  rough  house  where  Guy  Guille  lived,  he 
knocked  on  the  door  loudly,  waited  till  Guy  himself 
appeared  and  then  slipped  away  into  the  darkness. 


122  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

"Where's  that  fellow?"  demanded  fared  Ketron, 
"I  want  to  pay  him.  He  mended  our  car  that  got 
stuck." 

"What  did  he  look  like?" 

"Like  a  Vermonter.    Carried  a  mailbag." 

"Oh !  that's  Snooks.  He's  Hugh  Hinson's  nurse 
just  now." 

"Hugh  Hinson!  Is  he  here?"  came  from  David 
Ketron's  lips. 

"Very  much  here.  Worked  too  hard  in  the  sun. 
got  fever  and  is  as  weak  as  a  child,  though  getting 
better,  thank  God,"  replied  Guy.  "I  only  heard  of 
him  today  and  went  over  to  see  him  at  once.  Make 
yourselves  at  home,  folks.  This  is  a  surprise.  I  have 
two  rooms  for  the  ladies  and  the  rest  of  us  will  camp 
out." 

"Where  is  Hugh  ?"  asked  Ines  of  her  brother,  in  ;i 
quiet  moment. 

"In  a  tent  over  yonder.  Needs  nursing  badly, 
Ines,"  he  suggested.  "The  Lord  is  going  to  save 
Hugh  because  he  sees  that  there's  work  for  him  to 
do." 

"Maybe  He  sent  me  here  for  that  purpose."  was 
Ines's  answer  in  a  tone  which  David  had  never  heard 
from  her  lips. 

"You'll  go  over  in  the  morning,  dear." 

"And  stay  till  he  is  well,  Guy." 

In  all  his  life,  David  Ketron  never  passed  such 
a  night  as  the  one  that  followed.  It  seemed  such  a 
small  thing  to  confess  to  his  old  friend  that  he  had 
misjudged  him,  that  he  had  been  cruel  and  stubborn 
and  unjust.  Yet  this  was  just  what  was  hard  for  any- 
one who  had  Ketron  blood  in  them.  It  had  kept  Jared 
apart  from  Aleck  his  brother  for  many  years.  It  was 
boiling  up  even  now  in  Eleanor,  far  away  in  the  farm- 
house in  "ole  Vermont." 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  123 

Much  time  had  passed  since  she  had  laid  aside 
her  pride  enough  to  write  a  letter  to  Hugh,  who  had 
been  so  eager  to  hear  from  her  on  that  evening  which 
seemed  now  so  long  ago.  Of  course,  he  had  received 
the  letter,  but  did  not  wish  to  answer  it.  Perhaps 
Davie  was  right  in  his  judgment  of  Hugh  Hinson. 

In  this  way,  so  many  misunderstandings  can  arise, 
so  many  hearts  are  made  bitter  and  sad. 

David  had  to  fight  hard  against  that  Ketron 
streak  in  his  own  nature.  Hour  after  hour  he  lay 
upon  the  dry  earth  outside  of  Guy's  cabin,  with  the 
soft  warm  air  touching  his  cheek  so  lightly  and  the 
stars  overhead.  The  dawn  broke,  a  dim  line  of  silver 
in  the  east,  followed  by  rose  and  magenta  and  gold 
before  he  had  settled  the  question  with  himself.  He 
knew  that  he  \vas  in  the  wrong,  that  Hugh  had  been 
cruelly  misjudged,  but  he  hated,  O  so  dreadfully!  to 
confess  it  and  humiliate  himself,  he  the  son  of  Jared 
Ketron. 

David  arose  and  went  quietly  into  the  living-room 
of  Guy's  hut.  On  the  table  lay  Guy's  Bible,  marked  in 
many  places.  The  soft  air  was  alive  with  the 
humming  of  summer  insects. 

David  turned  to  First  Samuel  and  re-read  the 
beautiful  story  of  two  friends  who  had  lived  hundreds 
of  years  before  he  or  Hugh  were  born. 

"And  it  came  to  ptars  —  that  the  soul  of  Jonathan 
was  knit  with  the  soul  of  David  and  Jonathan  loved 
him  as  his  own  soul.  And  Jonathan  and  David  made 
a  covenant  *  *  *  And  Jonathan  stripped  himself  of 
the  robe  that  was  upon  him  and  gave  it  to  David  and 
his  garment  even  to  his  sword  and  to  his  bow,  and  to 
his  girdle  *  *  *  And  Jonathan  said  to  David.  Go 
in  peace,  forasmuch  as  we  have  sworn  both  of  us  in 
the  name  of  the  Lord,  saying.  The  Lord  be  between 
me  and  thee,  forever." 

Brighter  and  brighter  grew  the  light  in  the  east- 


124  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

ern  sky.  Shafts  of  rose-color  shot  up  into  the  zenith, 
heralding  the  approach  of  Apollo's  chariot,  the  rising 
sun.  A  golden  ball  appeared  above  the  horizon  and 
the  whole  earth  was  flooded  with  glory. 

David  heard  a  movement  near  him  and  there 
stood  Guy. 

"You'll  be  going  to  see  Hugh  this  morning, 
Davie?" 

"As  soon  as  I  can  get  there.  Guy,  don't  you 
think  that  it's  a  good  thing  for  a  fellow  to  stand  oil 
and  look  at  himself  as  if  he  was  somebody  else?" 

Guy  nodded. 

"Then,"  added  David,  with  feeling,  "he  knows 
what  a  snob  and  fool  he  is  —  and,  sometimes  —  he 
tries  to  do  better." 

The  Chinaman  put  his  head  out  of  the  door-way. 

"Breakfast's  ready,"  he  called  and  Guy,  putting 
his  arm  through  David's  led  the  way  to  a  table  set 
in  the  open  air  just  where  one  could  see  the  amethys- 
tine colors  of  the  cliffs  of  sandstone. 

The  bacon  frying  in  an  out-of-door  stove  smelled 
good.  There  was  coffee,  condensed  milk,  baked  beans, 
brown  bread  also,  and  very  good  it  tasted  even  to 
Jared  Ketron,  accustomed  to  his  chef's  cooking. 

"I'm  going  over  to  nurse  Hugh  Hinson,"  an- 
nounced Ines. 

Her  aunt  stared. 

"And  what  shall  I  do?"  she  inquired,  helplessly. 
Camping  out  was  not  to  Aunt  Lennie's  taste. 

"Stay  here  and  make  me  happy,"  suggested  Guy. 
"It  isn't  half  bad  when  one  gets  used  to  it." 

'Aunt  Lennie  groaned.    When  Guy  and  Ines  made 
a  conspiracy  —  always  a  good  cause,  she  confessed  — 
there  was  nothing  left  for  Aunt  Lennie  but  to  give  in 
as  agreeably  as  possible. 

"Oh,  well,  I'll  try  to  get  used  to  it,"  was  her 
mournful  reply. 


THAT  KETRON  STREAK  125 

Everybody   laughed   except  David. 

"Davie,  you  and  I  will  have  to  go  on,  I  suppose," 
Jared  Ketron  said. 

"I'm  going  to  help  to  take  care  of  Hugh,"  David 
responded. 

Plainly  it  was  hard  for  him  to  speak.  As  soon  as 
the  words  had  left  his  lips,  he  felt  an  immense  relief. 
The  Rubicon  was  passed ! 

Guy  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  in  his  eyes 
was  such  an  understanding  look  that  David  knew  at 
once  that  the  artist  had  not  forgotten  the  talk  about 
Hugh  Hinson  which  they  had  had  in  the  New  York 
studio. 

"Hugh  has  called  for  you,"  Guy  said,  quietly. 

Jared  Ketron  made  quick  decisions  and  rarely 
opposed  David.  He  saw  that  something  serious  lay 
beneath  this  new  resolve.  He  smiled  a.  little,  thinking 
that  David  had  wished  to  remain  in  this  desert  place 
because  he  desired  to  be  with  Ines.  That  idea  pleased 
him,  for  he  liked  the  beautiful  light-hearted  girl  who 
could  be  so  earnest,  just  as  he  liked  and  believed  in 
Guy  Guille  who  lived  so  close  to  God  that  people  saw 
their  Father  through  his  words  and  life. 

"McLaughlin,  you  and  I  will  go  to  California 
and  leave  these  young  folks  here  for  two  months,  if 
they  can  stand  it  that  long.  Then  we'll  come  back 
and  pick  you  all  up  and  if  the  invalid  is  well  enough, 
we'll  make  room  for  him,  too." 

A  harsh  voice  broke  in  now. 

"Mebbee  you  could  make  use  o'  me,  too,  Mr.  Ket- 
ron. I'm  cal'c'latin'  to  go  back  to  Hillside  in  ole  Ver- 
mont." 

"It's  Snooks,"  explained  Guy  Guille.  "How  is 
Hugh  this  morning?" 

Snooks  grinned. 

"He's  a  lot  better.  Hada  letter,  postmarked  Hill- 
side, be'n  most  all  over  creation  'fore  it  got  here, 


126  THAT  KKTKON  STREAK 

From  a  girrul,  1  reckon."  Snooks  openly  winked  ;it 
Ines.  "lie's  been  lookin'  fer  a  letter  but  I 
guess  it  wasn't  this  one,  cause  he  talked  'bout  hearin' 
from  Davie." 

"Let's  go  right  away  to  Hugh,"  exclaimed  David. 

"I'll  be  ready  in  five  minutes,  David,"  Ines  an- 
swered. 

"Be  you  the  David  he's  been  a-wantin'  so  bad?" 
asked  Snooks,  with  a  break  in  his  voice. 

But  David  Ketron  could  only  nod  a  reply. 

Two  months  later,  Jared  Ketron  came  again  in 
his  big  car  to  Guy  Guille's  cabin.  It  was  October  now 
and  the  clear,  dry  air  was  full  of  life-giving  power. 

"All  ready  to  go  to  Vermont?"  asked  Mr.  Ket- 
ron. "I  don't  call  this  young  man  an  invalid.  Stand 
up  by  David,  Hugh.  A  likely  pair  you  are.  And  Ines 
looks  blooming  too.  Here's  our  old  friend,  Mr. 
Snooks.  1  guess  we  can  make  room  for  you,  too, 
and  if  our  car  breaks  down,  you'll  have  to  put  it  to- 
gether again." 

Aunt  Lennie  sank  down  upon  the  cushions  of  the 
well-fitted  car  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"I  never  want  to  see  that  place  again !"  she  re- 
marked positively. 

Guy's  eyes  twinkled. 

"Why,  Aunt  Lennie,  I'm  surprised.  Such  air. 
such  sunshine,  such  — 

Aunt  Lennie  silenced  him  with  a  stern  look. 

Snooks  sang  as  he  helped  pile  in  people  and  rugs 
and  baskets,  sang  with  a  full  heart  and  Aunt  Lennie 
echoed  the  words. 

"Oh,  I'm  goin'  back  to  ole  Vermont, 

Where  mince-pies  grows  on  trees. 

I'm  goin'  to  leave  this  desert  place 

Where  there  ain't  nothin'  but  sand  and  fleas." 

"Maybe  it  wasn't  fair  not  to  write  to  Eleanor 
about  Hugh,"  David  confided  to  Ines  as  they  neared 
the  old  homestead  some  weeks  later. 


THAT  KETRON   STREAK  127 

The  whole  party  was  coming  to  Hillside  except 
Aunt  Lennie,  who  being  in  a  considerably  battered 
condition  had  begged  to  be  taken  to  her  home. 
Snooks  had  been  invaluable,  and  Jared  Ketron  had 
promised  him  a  good  place  in  one  of  his  factories. 

First,  however,  he  insisted  on  going  home  to  see 
J'siah  and  "Mis'  Prentice."  Besides,  he  had  a  deep 
curiosity  to  see  Eleanor.  Romance  was  deeply-rooted 
in  Snooks'  heart  and  he  adored  Ines. 

"After  all,  home's  the  best  place,''  said  Jared. 
"What  do  you  say,  Davie?  Shall  we  get  Aleck  to 
give  us  back  the  meadow  lot?  We'll  build  a  house 
there  on  the  old  place." 

"What  do  you  say,  Ines?" 

And  then  David  was  surprised  at  his  boldness. 
It  was  a  quer  way  to  ask  a  girl  to  share  his  life  and 
heart,  for  Jared  Ketron  was  listening  and  smiling. 

"I  like  it  very  much,"  Ines  answered  softly. 

''That  much  is  settled,"  answered  David's  father, 
laying  his  hand  on  that  of  Ines,  while  David  possessed 
himself  of  her  other  hand,  "the  day  that  house  is 
finished,  Davie,  I'll  take  you  in  as  a  partner." 

"And  what  about  Hugh?"  he  asked. 

"There'll  be  a  place  for  Hugh,  also." 

You  know  that  girls  very  properly  brought  up  and 
even  girls  who  have  queer  stubborn  streaks  in  them 
will  sometimes  lose  their  heads.  It  wasn't  really  fair 
to  come  upon  Eleanor  so  suddenly,  nor  for  Jared  Ket- 
ron and  David  and  Ines  to  see  her  rush  to  Hugh's 
arms  as  if  they  were  her  only  shelter  and  hide  her 
face  on  his  shoulder. 

The  audience  melted  away  and  the  two  were  left 
alone  in  the  wide  hall  where  a  cheerful  log  sputtered 
and  bunches  of  autumn  leaves  stood  in  oddly-shaped 
Chinese  jars. 

"You  never  wrote,"  she  murmured,  remembering 
herself  and  drawing  away  from  Hugh,  her  face 
aflame, 


128  THAT  KETRON  STREAK 

"I  couldn't  till  I'd  seen  Davie  and  made  things 
right  with  him,  Eleanor." 

"May  I  come  in  ?"  called  David,  peeping  out  of 
the  doorway  of  the  living-room.  "Eleanor,  I  was  to 
blame  — 

"No,  I  ought  to  have  stayed  long  enough  to  — 

"Now,  Hugh,  let  a  Ketron  eat  humble  pie  for 
once.  I  was  proud  and  stubborn  — 

Guy  Guille  appeared  on  the  scene,  followed  by 
Jared  and  Aleck  Ketron. 

"It's  all  been  the  fault  of  that  Ketron  streak," 
went  on  David,  "but  it's  gone  for  good  now.  Things 
are  going  to  be  different.  You  and  Hugh  — 

"Oh!"  said  Eleanor,  turning  away,  but  stopping 
when  Hugh  looked  at  her. 

"And  Ines  and  I  - 

"Oh,  Davie!" 

"Are  you  going  to  drive  out  the  old  curse  of  our 
family.  Father  is  going  to  ask  Uncle  Aleck  to  give 
him  the  meadow-lot  which  made  so  much  trouble  be- 
tween them,  and  we  are  going  to  live  together  in 
Hillside." 

"What  about  me?"  called  a  voice  from  the  door- 
way. 

There  stood  Grandma  Prentice  with  eyes  shining 
and  pink  bows  sticking  out  every  way  from  her  fine- 
lace  cap. 

In  an  instant  the  young  folks  had  her  in  the 
midst  of  the  group  where  she  beamed  upon  them,  her 
heart  so  full  of  happiness  that  she  could  not  speak. 

"Mother,"  said  Jared,  solemnly,  "the  Ketron 
streak  of  stubbornness  has  been  all  bleached  out  of 
the  family." 

"It'll  never  get  bleached  out  o'  you,  Jared  Ket- 
ron !"  was  Grandma's  quick  reply. 

(The  End.) 


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